


Break On Through To The Otherside

by El_Spoggerino



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 93,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/El_Spoggerino/pseuds/El_Spoggerino
Summary: What spells a good holiday for Huey Sylvester? A week of hunting in the Great White North in a remote cabin, chowing on burgers and watching cartoons. Know what doesn't spell a good holiday? Being forced into a fictitious universe and threatened with violence and death. Could be worse, though. Could've been transported to a far scarier universe than a dumb one about dragons.





	1. Chapter 1

Break On Through To The Other Side

 

Chapter I

Huntsman Of The Great White North

 

He took it slow down the slushy pavement, turning down the radio so he could concentrate on finding his way to the hunting grounds. The old clunker he drove was a mid 90's Toyota truck, tannish-gray, with all the characteristics that were afforded in that decade: that is to say, dull. The interior was much to same. The dashboard was a brownish thing with ancient coffee-cup rings ingrained into the plastic. The radio had only a tape-player that didn't even work anymore. The old _Foreigner_ tape stuck in there was pretty much permanent and couldn't even play, the latter being of no chagrin to the truck's driver; they were awful 80's drivel. But it's used, so what do you expect?

The driver, Huey Sylvester, shifted in his seat, his ass starting to fall asleep from the two-hour drive from his town to his late uncle's hunting cabin. Uncle Rick had been fond of the place, and he loved to bring Huey and his father every winter to try and bag some bucks. Huey had gotten a few bucks in the ten years he'd been hunting with them. One a twenty-one pointer! He had managed to beat Uncle Rick's record by two points. But no matter how many bucks either he or his uncle could shoot-up, it never beat the time Huey's father, Randal Sylvester, had ventured out one fateful morning to take a piss, only to stumble upon a bear that had somehow come out of hibernation. The bear, irate for whatever reason, had chased him back into the cabin, where he promptly grabbed his slug-loaded Remington 12-guage and blew it away. It later turned out the thing had had rabies. An uncommon occurrence, but not unheard of.

Huey would be going up alone this year, though. His Uncle had died of lung cancer a few years back, and that had nearly destroyed his father. He wasn't quite ready to move on, even today, which is why he never came to the cabin anymore. Huey, however, could never turn down a chance to be up here. It was a bit sad, but somewhat refreshing to be up in the mountains on his own. Gave him a nice retreat from the stresses of family life. And he could potentially bring a winter's worth of venison (or moose if he was lucky) home.

Huey spotted rear-lights ahead, breaks on. It was another truck, bigger than his own, and newer. It was jet black but for the spots where paint had been worn. The drivers didn't mind going through mud and gravel at high speeds, that's for sure. And apparently they don't mind shooting out the window. Huey grimaced as he spotted the muzzle of a rifle aiming out the passenger window. He looked to where it was pointed, and unsurprisingly saw off in the distance of a frozen marsh, some deer staring back at them, ignorant of the ignorance they were now enduring. It was this kind of shit that made Huey seriously consider becoming a game warden. He could see it now. These chumps blissfully unaware that a state truck was sidling up behind them, catching them right in the act of 'hunting' from the interior of their vehicle. Then with a high-pitched _Whoop!_ and a flash of blue lights, the dimwitted deer would bounce off, and the dumbstruck shooter would scramble to stow his rifle away to try and look like he wasn't doing anything wrong. Definitely he'd scramble to unload the weapon. Remember kids: if you're not allowed to keep a loaded weapon in your vehicle, then you're sure as shit not allowed to fire it out the God damned window on the side of the road.

Alas, Huey didn't have authority over these knuckleheads. Oh sure, he could get the license number and make a call to the wardens, but they still would've shot at the deer, maybe even kill one. They'd probably trudge out there, take a couple of pictures for Facebook, then fuck right off and leave the carcasses to rot. Not even bother with preserving the meat. So Huey did the only thing he could do (at least in his mind). He lowered the windows and blasted his radio. The deers tensed when they heard Bruce Springsteen crowing about a pink Cadillac, and a barely audible, “What the fuck!” could be heard from the black truck. Huey then blared the horn and hollered,

“Gotta move that gear up!” out the window. The deer listened to his advice and leaped into the woods. Next he heard another “Fuck!” from the truck and the guy unloaded all his rounds wildly. Huey doubted he had hit anything, as the animals had all disappeared in the tree line. Laughing wildly, Huey roared off past the other truck and didn't look back. He could see in his rear view the driver scowling and flipping him the bird. As far as he was concerned, that was confirmation of victory.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Just as Huey had asked, Mick Hutchins—the guy who plowed for all the old cabins around here and did general care-taking—had done just that for Uncle Rick's place. Huey had no trouble going over the hardened dirt road. No ice had accumulated and made the thing skate-central; just packed snow and dirt. Soon enough, shadowed by the pine giants rising overhead like nature's monuments, Huey came to the log cabin. He was pleased to see the keeper was already inside. His truck was parked beside the deck, and the lights were on. Huey pulled up beside his vehicle and killed the engine. As he climbed out of the truck, the oldish man stepped out the front door. In his late sixties but still pretty spry, Mick was a man with wiry white hair and a great big bushy beard. He was shrouded in a thick jacket, the torso blazing hunters' orange, while the sleeves were a dark red with a plaid pattern. He wore heavy Carhartt overalls and brown Doc Martins on his feet. Huey could make out the smile nearly hidden by his mustache as he waved.

“'Lo there, Hue!” he crooned, shambling down to deck to meet Huey.

“Afternoon, Mick,” Huey returned, shaking his hand.

“Place all toasted up for ya,” Mick let him know, placing his hands on his hips. “Need a hand with your stuff?” he asked, glancing back at the covered truck bed behind Huey.

“Sure, thanks,” Huey agreed, going back to lift up the hatchback and lower the tailgate. Ammunition, a rifle (Huey's own Remington Whitetail, complete with scope), survival gear, a twelve-pack of beer, and a few bags of food. Mostly stereotypical manly man fare: steaks, ground beef for burgers, chips and dip, pretzels, cheese, bread, and potatoes. All of it (save for the wilderness gear) was brought to the kitchen, where Huey and Mick shared a Carling lager.

“Hoping to beat your record this winter?” Mick asked.

“When am I not?” Huey shot back with a grin. Mick snickered.

“That's easy to answer.” They each sipped their beer for a bit before Mick went on, “Big storm's comin' in a few days.” Huey sighed wistfully.

“Yeah, so I've heard,” he muttered. That was one bummer for his week out here, a two-day blizzard. But that wouldn't be arriving for a while, so he might have time to get _something_. Even just a porcupine in a trap would do. Porcupine pot pie is pretty tasty, after all.

“But I've been looking around some,” Mick told him, “and there're tracks a ways west of here, I'd say two miles. Typical whitetails, but it's a pretty good lead.”

“Yeah,” Huey said, nodding. “Yeah, it is, thanks. I'll keep an eye out.” Mick nodded and sipped his beer again. He looked like he was about to ask something, but seemed to think better of it and took another drink. Huey could imagine he wanted to ask about his father, if he would ever come back. He was glad he didn't. Right now he didn't want to think about his old man. He had taken up smoking again after Rick had died, along with some heavy drinking. He wasn't abusive or anything, but his bitterness didn't help at all. Huey had his own place by now, but his mother often wanted to stay for dinner to get away from Randal. It was a mess of bitter irony at home, but Huey didn't want to bother himself with it for this one week. Bleeding hearts crying out on his selfishness (like his parents' nosy neighbors) be damned, a guy needed a week away from it all every now and again so he wouldn't go ballistic trying to deal with it.

Huey just noticed he had finished his beer a little too quickly when his thoughts strayed so, and so did Mick.

“Welp,” the old man said, placing his beer on the counter and standing upright. “I best be off. I've gotta check on some other places, like'd to get it done before dark... like that'll ever happen,” he grumbled.

“I hear ya, buddy,” Huey agreed, walking with him to the front door.

“Take care, Hue,” Mick said as he stepped out.

“You, too,” Huey replied. Huey closed the door and sighed and went to the kitchen for another beer.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Huey had been restless his first night at the cabin. Not a first, he had been so ever since first coming up alone. Some things you never got used too, it seemed. He tried to ease his mind with a bit more beer, but by then half of it was gone and he wanted to make it last for the next week, so he settled for some TV. DVDs of _Adventure Time_ and _The Venture Bros._ helped with his creeping insomnia, and it was about two in the morning when he finally crawled into bed, and took another forty-five minutes to fall asleep. Then the AM reared its ugly head at five, giving him a whopping two-hours of sleep. If he wanted to catch something, he had to be up early. He wasn't going to let some shitty force of nature like sleep get in his way. Honestly, of all the things evolution conjured up, sleep was the most wasteful.

Sucking it up, Hue went to the kitchen for copious amounts of coffee. When that didn't help, he decided to strip naked and swan-dive into a snow bank. Finally fully awake, he went inside to dress into his hunting garments and head out. He brought all the necessary gear to last out in the cold, and some extra survival gear in the unlikely but still possible event he got stranded at dark.

For a few hours he ventured the woods, checking all the outposts that had been set up over the years. Sick of walking, he stuck around one of the oldest ones, which was obvious by how gray and stripped the wood was. Still it held decently enough. Give a few years, though. It'll come crashing down, it was older than Huey was. So he sat and waited, a thermos of lukewarm coffee between his legs, which he sipped straight-up without the cup. Occasionally he peered over the railings to see if he could spot some critters, but mostly he relied on his ears. Despite the gray of the skies above, wind was hardly blowing, casting the woods in that eerie winter silence. This place was far from any road, too. Not even the roars of eighteen-wheeler engines traveled this far out. It was majestic, to say the least.

 _...When the green, dark forest was too silent to be real..._ Huey recited in his head, He took another sip of coffee and looked over the edge once more. A fox was down there, to his surprise. He was a quiet once, avoiding any branches that may snap and give away his presence. Smart fella.

“Bloody piker,” Huey muttered, staring down at the creature. He drew his bowie knife and pointed it down at the fox.

“Stab, stab, stab!” he murmured, grinning wolfishly. The fox looked up at him in surprise, only hesitating a moment before darting away. Huey leaned back again and sheathed his knife, followed by another mouthful of coffee. He grimaced with disgust. Not only too cold, but not enough cream or sugar. Morning rushes, le sigh.

Huey yelled out when an enormous crack sounded off beneath him. He sat up but stayed stock still, listening as the perch beneath him creaked and groaned lethargically. Huey regretted trying to estimate this thing's durability, because the estimation had apparently been under.

So, in order to get out of this pickle, he had to be slow and method-

Another great crack signaled the doom of the outpost, or more like the main branch holding it. It tilted downward, making Huey tumble back. He might have been saved by the railing, if that had not decided to spontaneously give up the ghost like the rest of the goddamned thing. And before he knew it, he was on the ground with a thud. Breathless and stupefied, Huey laid there and stared at the gray sky for a while, a perfect view of the shabby outpost now limp and useless. His thermos was still up there somehow-

And with that, a gust of wind shook the outpost. The thermos fell down, spilling coffee everywhere. The cool coffee and tin thermos hitting Huey in the noggin was what spurred him into action:

“Cock-sucking shit-humping dick-licking fag-sucker!” he bellowed, scrambling to his feet and trying to wipe the coffee off his face. He took off his orange wool hat, now soaked and useless, and used the dry spot to clean himself off. With that done, he bent over and picked up his rifle.

“Okay, I think I'm done here,” he grunted, hanging the gun strap over his shoulder and making for the cabin, following his footprints.

A low growl reached his ears from behind. He froze, his breath catching. A chill went up his spine as he finally detected the presence behind him. He turned slowly, not knowing what to expect, besides something big and pissed off at him. To his shock and awe, it was the hugest goddamned mountain lion he had ever seen, glaring at him with blazing yellow eyes. No, scratch that... this thing... it was... a fucking saber tooth?! Sure enough, long curved fangs hung from the creature's upper lip. It bared the rest of its yellowed chompers in a mix of hunger and disdain, the fur on its back standing on end, its tail whipping back and forth. The monster was about forty-feet from Huey, but it seemed much closer due to its size. He had encountered bobcats and even wolves out here, but they typically shied away from people (he had a stuffed bobcat back at his pad, in fact). But not only was this cat ready to chow down on Huey... it was a fucking _saber tooth!_ No seriously, what the actual fuck?

Huey had a feeling pretending he was bigger than it by raising his arms like a retarded fourth grader would not deter the beast from having its way with his giblets. It took its first step forward, and Huey acted. He pulled the rifle from his shoulder. Now the beast snarled and charged with alarming speed. Despite his panic, Huey flicked off the safety, shouldered, looked through the scope, saw a yellow eye staring back at him through the lens, and pulled the trigger. The crack of the rifle assaulted his ears with a terrible ringing. The beast fell soundlessly in the snow just a few feet from Huey, blood pouring from the entrance wound between its glazed eyes (which still somehow looked furious). Huey slowly lowered the rifle, arms shaking. His ears out of the equation for the moment, he quickly looked around, trying to see if the beast had friends waiting nearby. He was on guard for a good few minutes as his hearing slowly returned. Since nothing in the forest made a sound because of the rifle, he was reduced to snapping his fingers near an ear to see if he could hear again. When it returned to normality, Huey turned tail quickly and made for the cabin.

Just as he thought about calling a game warden to come see the damned thing, wind suddenly billowed behind him. Its arrival was more eerie than the actual sound itself. One second, complete silence, besides the crunch of Huey's boots in the crystallized snow. The next, a deep thunder of rushing air, creaking trees and snapping branches. Before he could turn around, it knocked him right onto his face with the force of a hurricane gale. When he tried to stand, the weight held him fast on the ground. It seemed impossible, but the wind was now blowing directly _down_. Not at an angle, like a wind being forced into a valley, but straight down like a B52 had dropped a load of bricks on top of him. Huey instinctively covered his head, afraid that something like that might occur. After a long-extinct animal had tried to gank him, and a vertical wind was forcing him on the ground, any God damned thing was possible. The freezing wind cut through his layers like a knife, and the snow bit his cheeks as he kept his head down. Somehow it began to become darker. Huey blinked the make sure he wasn't closing his eyes without realizing it. No, his eyes were wide open. He cried out, terrified he was somehow becoming blind.

The wind carried on for a few moments more before suddenly being snuffed out. Huey gasped and scrambled to his feet, clutching his rifle and looking around. He stared around. He was still in the snowy forest... but... it was different. This wasn't the spot he was in before. The trees were different. Glancing around, he couldn't see either his footprints nor the wrecked outpost. Huey swallowed, slowly venturing forward. There were a lot more pine trees, too. The particular spot he had been in earlier had had a few more leafy trees (or lack of leaves, thereof) than pines. But this wood was choked with pines. Beasts of pines, jutting in the sky like monoliths. The sky had cleared up somewhat, too. He could see smudges of blue between the gray blots. The sun suddenly poked through one of these spots, letting some temporary golden warmth fall on Huey's face. He stopped for just a moment to relish it, before the sun disappeared again. The warmth gone, Huey steeled his nerves and began walking. He knew it wasn't a good idea to move when lost in the woods... which... is why he decided to stop. He remembered the flare gun he had brought with him. Normally he wouldn't, but since he started coming up here on his own, he always brought one with; including five spare flares. He fumbled with his layers and withdrew the orange pistol. Pointing it up to the sky, he pulled the trigger, unleashing the bright red beacon to fly up high, before bursting into a bright star of light. Now the waiting began.

“What is that?” a somewhat distant voice sounded from the woods. Not believing his luck, Huey called out loudly before jogging forward. He found himself facing a treeline with moving figures... um, _lots_ of figures beyond. Whatever. The more the merrier, right? Huey stumbled out of the woods, climbed over a snow bank, and his feet hit a road he was not expecting to feel under his boots. He looked down dumbly at a cobblestone road, then up at his dubious rescuers. He couldn't believe his eyes. A convoy of men and women, with horse-drawn carriages, all dressed in Roman-esque armor. Silver steel, brown leather, with red decorations. They were all armed with swords and axes, great and small, and bows as well. In the carts, bound and dismal, more men and women donning dark blue leather armors... were these... it couldn't be...

“Halt! In the name of the Empire!” a voice called. From the ranks of soldiers came a CO, his armor grander and thicker than the rest, with a prominent helmet to boot. Huey couldn't believe this.

“State your name and business, and where you are from,” he demanded, drawing his sword for emphasis. Several other surrounding soldiers drew their weapons. Some bowmen nocked arrows and aimed at Huey. He was silent for a moment, trying to digest this. Suddenly, he blurted out, “Is this a fucking joke?!” A laugh escaped him, and some of the soldiers glanced between each other. This had to be joke, this was... what...

He saw the Khajiit then. And this wasn't some furry LARPer in a mascot suit... this thing... was _real_. It had an expression (one of confusion, like the rest of the people), but living eyes. They stared into his eyes, and he felt the same way he could look into another person's eyes. That he had their attention, and he could communicate with them. It was a real, bonafied Khajiit... and not the lump-faced ones from _Oblivion._ _**Oblivion**_... a fucking video game. But... this meant.

“I'm in fucking Skyrim...” he muttered, staring around in awe. The impatient captain grunted, hearing the word 'Skyrim' and deciding that was enough of an answer.

“Then tell me, Nord,” he said to him, “Your name and business. And they better be good answers.” It was slowly dawning on Huey. Here he was, in front of medieval soldiers, carrying a flare gun and dressed in blazing oranges combined with snow-themed camouflage. He must look like a complete jackwagon to these people. But his mouth was quicker than his mind.

“I'm... Hogarth Hughes, and I'm hunting.” Several of the soldiers burst out laughing. Even some of the prisoners... the Stormcloaks (unbelievable) looked bemused.

“Hunting?” the CO repeated. “You look like a court jester for the Forsworn.” This elicited a few more chuckles from the legionnaires.

“More likely a spy, sir,” one of the soldiers spoke up. The captain nodded.

“Most likely,” he agreed.

“Honestly? Me, a spy? Do I look like a spy to you?” Huey shot back incredulously.

“I don't care, _honestly_ ,” the captain said dismissively, sheathing his sword and turning away. “Drop whatever weapons you have on your person, Nord. Surrender peaceably, make this easier for all of us.” Huey's first instinct was to bolt, maybe fire a flare on the back of this guy's head. But either way, the legionnaires would beat him before he could even climb over the snow bank, or try to load another flare into the gun. Huey noticed familiar faces among the prisoners, then. Along with the Khajiit, was a gagged Stormcloak. The Stormcloak of all Stormcloaks: Ulfric. Racist douche extraordinaire, but Huey could see this could be his ticket to freedom. All he had to do, as insane to him as it sounded: was follow the annoying tutorial that took too long.

Reluctantly, Huey slowly let his weapons down, save for his boot knife. Why would a Canadian hunter need a boot knife? Because it's cool, that's why. Hopefully they wouldn't check him that well. They did pat him down, but halfheartedly. Before he knew it, his guns were with the captain, his hands were bound, and he was seated right between the horse thief, and the Khajiit... the Dragonborn.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

The ride was quiet, which was unusual... well, at least for Huey. He guessed 'real' Skyrim didn't follow computer codes and MP3 scripts. Hell, he was probably the pretty little cosmic butterfly who flaps his wings and summons Mehrunes Dagon to finish his conquest of Tamriel or some shit. He looked to Ralof, who was staring back at him warily. Huey glanced at Ulfric, who stared away out the back of the cart, the horse thief (what was his name again... er, something Nordy) stared at his own feet, and the Khajiit ran her hands over her head.

“So, Forsworn jester,” Ralof spoke up suddenly, getting Huey's attention. “What were you _really_ doing in those woods?”

“Being lost,” Huey answered with a wry smile. Ralof chuckled.

“We've all been there, friend. But you're not from Skyrim, are you?”

“Not really. Somewhere similar, though.”

“And where's that?”

Huey was surprised at how quickly and smoothly he could lie: “Bruma, up in the Jerrals.”

“Ah. As close to 'Skyrim-like' as you'll ever get in the Imperials' land, I suppose,” Ralof said with some minor disdain.

“And you,” he said next to the Khajiit, getting her attention. “They caught you trying to cross the border, right?” She nodded.

“She's like me,” the horse thief growled, “Didn't do anything wrong... well, not _really_ wrong. So, I stole a horse, how does that get me lumped in with a bunch of rebels?! I should just be thrown into a cell for a few months, not sent to Helgen like you!”

“Well, let this be your first real taste of how much the Empire is concerned with your plight, horse thief,” Ralof returned sardonically.

“They're going to kill me, aren't they?” the thief said in despair, ringing his hands till his knuckles turned bone white. “They're going to kill all of us!” he cried.

“Keep it down back there!” the cart's driver snapped.

There was a brief silence before Ralof spoke again, “At least have some dignity before you die, thief. Make peace with your gods, whoever they may be.”

“I don't deserve this,” the thief whispered. Huey decided to test his totally legit psychic powers.

“Listen, fella,” he said to the thief, who looked up at him, “You seem like the running type. My advice when we get to Helgen: _don't run_. They'll just shoot you down.”

“I'd rather die on my own terms, making a break for freedom,” the thief grunted.

“Dude, just listen for a damned minute, I've got a plan.”

“And that is?” the thief demanded, not looking convinced.

Huey smirked, and the thief saw the cocksuredness in his expression: “Don't follow the script.” Huey leaned back and folded his hands over the back of his head. All of his fellow passengers stared at him, confounded.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Somehow Huey's super special awesome sexy psychic powers worked, because he, the horse thief Lokir of Rorikstead, the Dragonborn, and Ralof stood together as one impatient Nord asked to be brought to Sovngarde by the headsman.

“Let's get this over with, I haven't got all day!” he demanded, interrupting a priestess's final rites and walking straight to the chopping block.

“Hey, pal!” Huey called. Everyone hesitated and looked at him. Huey waited a moment before saying, “See you in Asgard.”

“What?”

“Sovngarde.”

The Nords gave him funny looks, even the one who was about to get his head cut off as he knelt on the block.

_Probably best I not overextend my 'abilities.' Also, he asked for it._

With a swift motion, the man's head was off, and several people cursed Imperials and Stormcloaks alike.

“As brave in death as he was in life,” Ralof said somberly, lowering his head.

“Why did I listen to you?” Lokir hissed at Huey, seething and red in the face.

“Because you're good at trusting other people's intuition, bro,” Huey answered. Lokir spat at his feet. “Charming.”

“You, the one with the ridiculous jacket!” the obnoxious female captain cawed at Huey. “To the block!” Despite his assured safety, a knot formed in Huey's stomach nevertheless. Somehow the sound of the World Eater's roar in the distance didn't make him feel any better. Weird, right?

“What was that?” a Stormcloak muttered.

“It's nothing, we carry on,” the captain ordered. An imperial soldier took Huey's arm.

“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.”

“What's your brilliant plan now, _Hogarth Hughes,_ the great Forsworn jester,” Lokir snapped. As he was being led forward, Huey called back, “I'm not saying I have a plan... but I have a plan.”

“Some plan, being a lamb for slaughter,” the captain jeered, but watched him closely nevertheless.

“Tell me something, captain,” Huey said as he was knelt at the block. “Do you piss pearls? What with all that sand in your vagina.” A roar of laughter exploded from the Stormcloaks. The captain turned beet red, and bellowed, “SILENCE!” That just made the Stormcloaks laugh harder. What really quieted them was a second roar in the distance... but closer this time.

“There it is again!” a voice exclaimed.

“Enough!” the captain snarled. “Headsman! _Now!_ ” The executioner raised his axe, and Huey watched with (an admittedly forced) manic grin as he saw Alduin at last glide over the mountains and make his way to the tower overhead.

“What in Oblivion is that!?” a soldier cried.

“A _Dissection_ song,” Huey said, before jumping to his feet and kicking the headsman in the crotch. The executioner dropped his axe and fell to his knees just as the dragon landed upon the tower. Huey couldn't help but stare. This was a dragon. A real fucking dragon! He used to only _dream_ of something like this happening to-

Alduin opened his maw and let out a deafening shout, breaking Huey's reverie. The sky unfurled with clouds of fire and stone, and they rained down upon Helgen. Screams filled the air, and blasts rocked the town. One rock pummeled the ground next to Huey, stunning him. He stumbled back, ears ringing as he tried to keep his bearings and maintain his balance with his bound hands. A distant voice called behind him, and sharp nails dug into his arm. The Dragonborn, making him face her, yelled for him to follow. He did as instructed, his senses returning. He saw it was Hadvar leading he, along with the Dragonborn and Lokir, into a keep. Huey ducked instinctively as Alduin soared overhead, bellowing voice and flame on the town. Archers and magi launched spell and arrow at the winged beast, either missing, or their arms having no effect on the half-godly creature.

Huey followed his little company into the keep, where others were hiding. Stormcloaks and Imperials, each too stupefied by what was happening to remember their hatred for each other.

“We've got to get out of here!” Lokir cried, looking like he was about to shit himself. “Where do we go!?”

“Helgen Tower,” Hadvar said. “There are underground passages that lead out of town. We can use them to escape.”

“Well what are we waiting for!” a Stormcloak cried. “Let's go! There's a hole in the roof we can escape from.” The Stormcloak began to ascend the stairs, but as soon as he came to the second floor landing, the stone wall exploded inward, knocking the Stormcloak and several other cowering people to the floor. Alduin poked his head in and belched fire on his victims.

“By the gods!” Lokir and Hadvar shouted at once. The Dragonborn uttered her own oath in the Khajiiti tongue, and Huey figured he should be shocked like the rest of them now. He had already been testing his all-knowingness suspiciously enough, it was time he tried to blend in. They seemed to be ignoring him, however. When the dragon's head disappeared and the company felt him dismount the tower, Hadvar ordered them to follow him. They came to the top floor, and sure enough the hole was there. They each took turns leaping down into the burning building adjacent to the tower, making their way to the ground again. There, a child cried by his crushed father's side while Ralof tried to coax the child to leave him.

“By the gods...” Hadvar muttered again.

“This is never going to end,” Lokir hissed, tugging at his binds futilely. Ralof took the child's arm, who reluctantly followed away from his father's side. Ralof saw Hadvar and glared.

“I bet you're half-glad this is happening, Ralof,” Hadvar growled at him.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't,” the Stormcloak returned. “I'm escaping, Hadvar. We _all_ are. I suggest you do the same.”

“We'll end this later, Ralof. Mark my words,” Hadvar promised. Ralof gave him one more scornful stare before fleeing with the boy to safety. When they were gone, Hadvar turned to the others.

“Come on, we're almost there.” The company wound through the streets of Helgen, trying to avoid the dragon, but he seemed to be around every corner; almost like he was following them. Eventually they came to the keep, Huey watching as Alduin swooped down, took an Imperial in his claws, and flew for the sky once more only to drop the soldier to his death. Huey swallowed the lump in his throat and went into the keep with his new companions. When he was in, Hadvar shoved the door shut behind them and released a breath of relief. They were all quiet for a moment, collecting themselves before Hadvar spoke again.

“We're safe for now... maybe. It's likely the other Stormcloaks had the same idea we had and are down further somewhere. We should arm ourselves.”

“And that damned dragon could bring the roof down on our heads, too,” Lokir said. “We need to hurry.”

“I have to admit I agree with you,” Hadvar said back. He drew a dagger from his hip. “Let me take care of your bonds. Then take some spare armor and weapons from the racks. You'll need them... especially you, Hogarth. The Greybeards could probably see you from the Throat of the World.” Secretly finding the quip funny, Huey approached a rack with a set of different armor types. The fur armor looked easiest and most comfortable, so he chose that. They'd be sitting in this room for years if he tried any other armor, even if he hesitated to watch someone else put on armor and go off that. Lokir, just as inexperienced with armor as Huey, chose fur as well. The Dragonborn decided on leather armor. She seemed a bit more skilled at armoring than them, which was unsurprising, to both Lokir and Huey alike. Tamriel's a rough world for a Khajiit.

“Horse thief,” Hadvar said, “I probably know the answer to this already, but can you handle a sword enough to defend yourself?” Lokir looked nervous.

“I suppose, if I really have to... but a shield would probably help better... I'll probably use that a lot more than a sword.”

“I can imagine. What about you, Khajiit?”

“I have basic training in melee and ranged combat,” she said back. “Also, Bastet is my name.”

“Right. And you, Hogarth?” Hadvar asked.

“Never used a sword in my life,” he said back. This was something he couldn't lie about, even though he wanted to. Huey could tell immediately by Hadvar's look it struck him as odd.

“Strange, for a hunter,” he remarked. “Need something when your bow fails, right?”

“I had a knife,” Huey answered.

“Against a bear?” Hadvar pressed.

“Oh, I just wrestle them in nothing but my khaki shorts and hat,” Huey returned with a smirk. To his relief he got a chuckle out of Hadvar, and even a smile from Bastet. Lokir seemed to be ignoring them, mentally preparing himself for what was to come _._

“Fine then, huntsman. We should get a move on, we've lollygagged here for too long. Come.” Hadvar lead them through a passageway, Huey and Bastet behind the legionnaire and Lokir at the rear, clutching a shield for dear life. As they walked, Bastet said to Huey,

“Only a knife... and no bow. Nothing but what _appeared_ to be weapons, strange weapons no hunter here uses. You're no hunter I've ever seen, and I've met plenty during my travels from Elsweyr.”

_At least she doesn't refer to herself in the third person._

“Built 'em myself. When I'm not hunting I'm tinkering. Wish to the Nine I had them back, though.”

“I imagine so.” Bastet was silent, and Huey was glad. He figured he'd have to spill his guts or come up with a good lie someday soon, but for now he was focused on surviving. And he doubted joining the Dragonborn on her quest would raise his survival rates. He might have to settle down in Riverwood, when they came to it, and think of a way to get back home. Ask mages or something... actually, maybe he _should_ follow Bastet. To the Greybeards. They might have a better idea of how he got here than anyone else. Maybe even Paarthurnax. Ah who was he kidding, he wanted to see everything in real-time Skyrim. This is fucking amazing!

Reality decided to bite again, however, when an arrow whizzed by his head. No way, adventuring in Skyrim? He could get killed, and there was no quick-load button. Or turning down the difficulty to novice. Wouldn't that be a fucking treat? Plus this was vanilla Skyrim anyway, boriiing!

Huey and his companions dropped to the ground and got behind cover.

“Imperial pigs, just ahead!” they heard a voice call from down a flight of stairs, from the keep's dungeon.

“Dammit, does anyone know destruction magic?” Hadvar asked. The looks he received were answer enough. “Then lend me your shield, Lokir.”

“What?” he squeaked, drawing it closer to his person.

“For the gods' sakes, I'll give it back to you!” Hadvar snarled before prying it from the cowardly man's hands. He stepped into the stairwell, shield raised, and blocked an arrow. As the archer below tried to nock another arrow Hadvar tossed the shield at him, hitting the Stormcloak in the head. With a bellow, Hadvar charged down the stairs, sword raised. The Stormcloak fumbled to grab a dagger, but Hadvar bared down on him and cut him down the side of the neck, severing an artery. The Stormcloak crumpled to the ground and Hadvar dove behind a knocked-over table as a ball of fire was launched his way. Bastet came down next, snatched up the shield, and blocked another firebolt with it. Hadvar took the opportunity to leap over the table and cut down the mage who had been attacking them. Lokir and Huey followed them down into a small dungeon; complete with cages and torture instruments. Lokir gratefully took his shield back from Bastet when she handed it to him. Huey bent over the corpse of the archer and relieved him of his bow and arrows.

“I bet that's more your style, eh, hunter?” Hadvar said with a smirk. Huey was more used to compound bows himself, but this was close enough. He tested the string. Harder to pull back than a compound, but he'd get used to it. Huey strapped the quiver over his shoulder and followed his companions further into the underground corridors. They came to a wide-open chamber, crawling with Stormcloaks.

“Stop that Imperial!” one shouted upon seeing them. Huey didn't hesitate to nock an arrow and fire it at the woman who had called them out. The missile pierced her light armor, straight to the heart. She fell with a strained grunt, and her comrades reacted as expected: furiously.

“Snoipin's a good job, mate,” Huey muttered, readying another arrow. Side-by-side, Bastet and Hadvar engaged several swordsmen that came at them. Lokir cowered behind Huey, muttering something or rather to a multitude of aedric deities, including Talos. Huey's heart practically stopped when he caught sight of a hammer-wielding barbarian skirting by Hadvar and Bastet to flank him. He wouldn't have enough time to shoot him, so instead he wrenched Lokir's shield for himself and ripped a scavenged shortsword from his hip. The Stormcloak bellowed and raised his hammer when he was within five feet of Huey. Huey did the only thing he could think of and charged back, but with his shield held firm in front of him. The Stormcloak was caught off guard by the attack and took the targe charge right to the stomach. He lost grip of his heavy iron hammer in the process of being forced flat on his back, and Huey didn't hesitate to stomp on his neck. Bone cracked beneath his boot and the man died soundlessly. Huey's stomach lurched, but he did his best to keep his nerves, stifling the revelation that he had just killed two human beings.

He looked up at Bastet and Hadvar. They had dispatched several swordsmen, causing the remaining two to retreat. Huey tossed Lokir's shield back to the man, causing him to clumsily try and catch it and fail. Huey sheathed his unused sword and snatched his discarded bow back up. The two remaining Stormcloaks disappeared down a tunnel before he could even grab another arrow.

“Piss,” he muttered. Oh well. Maybe the bear and spiders up ahead would take care of them. Said beasties would also be softened up in the process for easier killage. Bastet and Hadvar turned to Lokir and Huey.

“Nice work, Hogarth,” Hadvar complimented. “Got more stones than I expected. Lokir... you holding up?”

“Mmm...”

“Keep it up, then, I guess,” Hadvar said back and sighed. “Guess we're following those two lucky ones.”

“They won't be lucky for long if they try to ambush us,” Bastet growled, flexing her arms as she stared fixedly at the passage before them.

“Aye, so they won't,” Hadvar agreed, smiling admiringly at Bastet. He turned back to Huey and Lokir. “Shall we?” The companions made their way into the passage, discovering it lead to a natural cave system. They then heard screams from up ahead. The Imperials.

“I bet they ran into frostbite spiders,” Hadvar said. Lokir shuddered beside Huey, and Bastet grimaced in disgust. “Either way, get ready for a fight. The damn bugs are all riled up now.” They went ahead and came to a cavern filled indeed with the venom-spitting creep crawlies. The larger ones were in the process of webbing the Stormcloaks while the smaller ones did their nasty little frontal leg dances around them like a tribe of savages. Huey nocked an arrow and fired between all eight eyes of a spider. It hissed angrily, dropping its prize and spitting at Huey. He ducked just in time as the wad of sick flew over his head. Shield raised, Hadvar bellowed and charged, Bastet at his side. Arrows were useless Huey supposed, so he drew his sword and followed. Not intending to bite off more than he could chew, Huey took to some of the smaller ones. The universe, however, didn't find it appropriate to reward his smarts, and thus it sent one of the large ones to leap over stunned Hadvar and Bastet, right in front of Huey.

“Oh fuck this noise, man!” Huey exclaimed, diving under the spider and rolling to where Bastet and Hadvar stood. When Huey was on his feet alongside them, Lokir cried out as the spider decided to let Huey by. “Oh come on!” Huey shouted. A strange sense of nobility clouded Huey's cognitive functions and he leaped onto the spider's back to save the silly horse thief.

 _Don't worry, Lokir, you're not gonna get “steeped on by stiders” on this day!_ Huey thought absurdly as the beast thrashed angrily below him. Thank God (or Talos, Kynareth, Dibella, whoever) Bastet and Hadvar were there to hack on the thing's legs. The spider stumbled, and Huey took the opportunity to plunge his sword into its back. He must have hit something vital, because it crumpled to the ground, what remained of its legs twisting up. Huey lost his grip and fell to the side with an 'oof!' Lokir babbled to the gods incoherently in the background as Huey found himself laughing.

“Oh wow...” he chuckled, wiping away a tear. “What's next on the list? A bear. Yeah.” He found Bastet offering her hand to him, and he accepted. When she pulled him up, she said with a smirk,

“Nice job. You should start a spider ranch, domesticate them, and breed them for knights.”

“Ugh,” Hadvar grunted. “Don't speak such nonsense.”

“Why not?” Huey said. “I could make a fortune.” Hadvar made another noise and turned away. Huey turned back to Lokir to see the Nord, paler than usual, inching by the dead bug while still muttering to the Nine.

“Hope you're wrong about that bear,” Bastet said to Huey, offering him his discarded bow.

 _I'm not._ But he said instead, “I hope so, too,” and took the bow. The company moved on through more tunnels until they came to a second cavern where the massive grizzly slumbered.

“You had to open your mouth,” Lokir hissed at Huey.

“It'd be nice if you _closed_ yours,” Hadvar spat back, silencing the moody thief.

“She's sleeping, still. We can sneak by,” Bastet said. She turned to the others with a playful smile. “Any of you and your clodhoppers capable of doing that?”

“We don't need to be cats to sneak by a bear,” Hadvar chuckled back, leading the way again slowly. To Huey's surprise, they made it by the bear with no incidents. The grizzly enjoyed her nap, and the company's giblets weren't nibbled. At last they made it to the outside world, relishing the sun and the fresh air. The bellow of Alduin spoiled their moment briefly, prompting them to hide beneath a pine as the black behemoth soared overhead, announcing his presence to everything below, letting everything and everyone know they were below him. When he was safely out of sight, the company stood from their hiding spot.

“No one's going to believe this,” Hadvar breathed.

“They'll have to,” Bastet said. “The news will spread through all of Skyrim in no time. It'll take the rest of Tamriel by storm with that being said.”

“Tamriel's going to be in an uproar, no doubt,” Hadvar agreed.

“Okay... well,” Lokir said to them, stepping ahead. “Thank you... I suppose. I ought to be going now.”

“Good luck in Hammerfell,” Bastet said to him.

“Oh... um, thanks,” he mumbled. He gave an awkward wave and made his way down the road, disappearing around a bend. When he was gone, Hadvar sighed.

“So, what about you two,” he said to Bastet and Huey. “If you need shelter for the night you can come with me to Riverwood. My uncle lives there, he'll be more than willing to let us stay.”

“Yes, thank you, I have nowhere to go,” Bastet answered.

“Me too,” Huey said. “Thank you,” he added.

“No trouble. You both saved my life, shelter is the least I can offer in return. Follow me, Riverwood's not far.”

They set off, walking side-by-side down the cobblestone road. “Oh, and, if I were you, I'd lay low in the presence of the Imperials,” Hadvar told them. “ _I_ know better, but as far as the rest of the legion is concerned, you're fugitives.”

“I doubt they even remember us,” Huey said. “Not being 'on the list' and all. They're probably more sore about Ulfric escaping.” Hadvar cursed at the mention of his name.

“As we should be,” he spat. “But you're probably right. I bet only the captain would recognize you two.”

“Captain Pearly Gates, yeah, fuck her,” Huey grunted, unable to help himself. Hadvar snorted, and Bastet snickered.

“I'm surprised she didn't cut your head off herself,” Hadvar said. “She probably _would_ have if General Tullius hadn't been there. I mean it.”

“Well, thank God for small miracles,” Huey replied.

“Which god?” Hadvar asked. Huey was taken aback, then remembered the Nine.

“Oh, um, Talos,” he said back hastily, then remembered Talos was a no-no for the Empire, and glanced at Hadvar to guage his reaction. Hadvar noticed and smiled reassuringly.

“Don't worry, as far as I'm concerned, Talos is the Ninth of the Nine. To Oblivion with the Thalmor. The only reason I'm a legionnaire is to make sure Skyrim stays stable during these hard times.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Huey said.

After a moment of silence, Hadvar asked Bastet, “So, what brings you to Skyrim? I'm guessing it wasn't with the trade caravans, you don't strike me as a trader.”

“That's my story for those that are less perceptive,” she said to him with a crafty smirk. “But, in reality, I'm your standard adventurer. But to most Nords, I might as well say I'll pick their pockets when they're not looking. If I had to say so during my time in Cyrodiil, I definitely have to here... no offense.” Hadvar shook his head.

“None taken.”

They were silent for a while, leaving Huey to think to himself. In other words, to try and figure out what the fuck he was going to do next. Staying in Riverwood seemed the best option, maybe be a hunter. He had the know-how, and he had a bow. He had some skill with a compound bow and could refine his 'normal' bow skills with time. That seemed the best option. If anything, he could get a job at the tavern or something, as cook maybe. Finally those years at Garry's Diner would pay off.

But, despite the danger of adventuring in real Skyrim being... real, he found the idea of being a softy in Riverwood to be very unappealing. Plus it would never get him any closer to figuring out what really happened, how he got here. The sabercat showed up, back on _Earth—_ weird as fuck to let that particular set of words run through his mind—then that freak storm. And suddenly, Skyrim. Worthy successor to _Oblivion_ , a landmark achievement for Bethesda Softworks since Fallout 3, Game Of The Year on multiple fronts, winner of the Angry Joe Bad-Ass Seal of Approval—da woiks. Only this place had teeth, and it could bite any time it wanted.

So yeah, Huey was more likely to find out what happened if he asked the right people. And while this might be 'organic' Skyrim, not following any scripts or programming, he still had an idea of where all the 'right people' are. Which meant sticking with the Dragonborn. Because what else would a fanboy do?

“We're getting close.” Hadvar's voice roused Huey from his musing. Indeed they were, he recognized the area close to the gateway to Riverwood. He could hear voices hollering, hammers clanging, and lumber blades sawing. A few more moments and they were stepping into the center of the village. Huey hid a smile when the old woman proclaimed of seeing a dragon, and no one believed her. He found a strange comfort in that _some_ things might fall into place as expected. He just had to be sure that _he_ didn't do anything to fuck it up. Cosmic butterflies and that ilk. He started to regret saving Lokir... or maybe he was just being paranoid.

“My uncle's home is just ahead,” Hadvar told them. “Ah, there he is!” Ahead was a burly Nord (well that just described every Nord ever), face smeared with soot, along with his dark blonde hair. Uncle Alvor was carrying an iron chest-piece when Hadvar called to him.

Surprise on his face, he turned and cried, “Hadvar?! What are you doing here?”

“You won't believe it,” Hadvar replied grimly as Alvor set the armor down on the porch.

“You look like you've been through Oblivion, boy,” Alvor exclaimed. “It must be quite a story indeed.” He looked to Bastet and Huey, curiosity and a little suspicion on his face. “And who are your companions?”

“I should explain inside, I don't want anyone overhearing,” Hadvar answered lowly. Alvor nodded.

“Alright, then. Come with me, you can help yourself to some food and drink.”

Hadvar followed his uncle, Bastet behind, and Huey trailing behind. He gazed at the town around him. He had hoped the feeling of surrealism would have passed by now, what with dragon attacks and people getting killed around him. But he felt like he was almost in a dream... lucid dreaming. He knew he wasn't, but it seemed his subconscious wasn't ready to cooperate with the not-stupid part of his brain.

“Coming, son?” Alvor's voice said behind him. Huey turned and put on his poker face.

“Yeah, just... recovering,” he replied, stepping to the door. Alvor gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Bowl of stew will do you good, son. A stiff drink, too.” Huey returned an honest—and relieved—smile.

“I heard that.”

Huey disappeared into the house and the door closed behind him, tinking softly as the lock was secured.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

Hard Topics

 

Huey had never been so relieved to take a seat in his life. Before him sat a plate of bread and cheese to hold him over until the stew was ready. Behind, a roaring fire boiled the stew, filling the air with its aroma. Across from him Alvor and Hadvar took seats, Bastet finding one next to him. Hadvar's niece approached, eyes wide as she stared at the strangers.

“Wow! I never thought I'd ever meet a cat!”

“Dorthe!” Sigrid hissed at the girl, quickly casting an apologetic look at Bastet. “I'm sorry, she hears what... _certain people..._ ” her look transformed to that of scorn as she laid her eyes on a shifting Alvor before she looked back at Bastet, “...blurt out.”

“It's all right, I won't hold a grudge,” Bastet replied.

“Oh, um, sorry, I didn't know that was mean,” Dorthe amended.

“Nothing to worry of, cub,” Bastet returned reassuringly. Alvor cleared his throat, prompting the three's attention.

“I'm sorry to cut to the chase, but I need to know what happened,” he said.

“Right,” Hadvar sighed, folding his hands on the table. “No need to beat around the bush. In Helgen, we were attacked by a dragon.” Alvor reeled somewhat, Dorthe's eyes bulged again, and Sigrid spun around, dropping the stirring spoon on the floor.

“Aha, I'm sorry, I must have misheard you. Did you say a _dragon_ attacked you?” Alvor said back incredulously.

“That's what happened, Uncle. I wouldn't make this up,” Hadvar returned.

“I... I believe you, son, it's just...” he trailed off.

“I know the feeling,” Huey murmured, taking a bite of some cheese and bread. He hid a smile. Looking at the giant cheese wheels in the game had always made him hungry for cheese, even after a meal. Now he was having the real thing! It was like meeting Mickey Mouse at Disneyland.

“How big was the dragon?!” Dorthe demanded.

“As big as a house,” Hadvar answered. “Destroyed a lot of houses, too.”

“Wow!” she exclaimed.

“There's nothing to 'wow' about, girl,” Alvor replied gruffly. “This dragon could endanger the whole village!”

“Then we need the Jarl's help,” Sigrid said. “If there's a dragon on the loose, he'll send some soldiers to better guard the village.”

“Yes, someone should go there,” Alvor agreed.

Bastet spoke up, “I can give him the message. I probably shouldn't stay here, anyway.”

“You would do that?” Alvor said. “You have my gratitude, but you shouldn't leave now. At least sup with us and stay the night. It sounds like you two helped Hadvar, and I'd like to repay you for that.”

“Yes, please, stay,” Hadvar agreed. “It would get dark before you arrived at Whiterun, anyway, and it isn't safe to travel at night. Especially now that there's a dragon lurking out there somewhere.”

“You won't get an argument from me,” Huey replied.

“Thank you,” Bastet said gratefully. It wasn't until now she realized how tired she was. Staying the night here was a good idea. She looked at Huey then.

“So you're coming to Whiterun with me?” He nodded.

“As you can probably tell, I'm not from around here. So I'll need a place to live,” he said to her, but really he was planning to stay with her... until he met the Greybeards maybe. He hoped they would know something about how he got here. With that thought crossing his mind, he knew he would eventually have to tell Bastet how... 'familiar' this all was to him. But for now? Play it cool.

“From Cyrodiil, eh?” Alvor said. “What brought you to Skyrim?”

_Is every Imperial gonna think I'm a Nord, and every Nord gonna think I'm an Imperial?_ Huey thought, but answered, “Hunting. Everything's bigger and tougher up here than down south. Including fliers, apparently,” he joked weakly. Dorthe laughed, but the rest only smiled half-heartedly. Huey had a feeling Bastet was reading him like a book. He could feel her watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“What about you, Bastet?” Hadvar asked.

“My two sisters are up here,” she said. This surprised Huey. The Dragonborn having actual family. Although it shouldn't really. This was a real person he was sitting next to, not some silent mook that stared vacantly into space like in the stupid game. Bastet went on, “Oshana went and joined the Companions, so I'll be able to meet up with her in Whiterun.”

“Heh. Well one thing is going right, for you at least,” Hadvar remarked with a smile. Bastet chuckled softly.

“Yes, nice and convenient, that. Unfortunately for my other sister, Jasi, who has always traditionally a pain in the as...” she glanced at Dorthe briefly, “..rear, she's up with the mages in Winterhold.”

“Ah I see, you've got a whole dynamic going,” Huey said. “You're the quick one, Oshana's the tank, and Jasi's the spellslinger.” Bastet laughed lightly.

“Close. _I_ actually prefer heavy armor and Oshana has always been light on her feet.”

Sigrid approached with a pot of stew and placed it in the middle of the table, while Dorthe passed out bowls and spoons to everyone. When everyone was settled and began eating their meals, Alvor spoke up again.

“For your trip in the morning, we have plenty of supplies to offer, including arms and armor. You're doing a good service to the village, Bastet, so I'd like to give you a decent set of plate armor.” Bastet was surprised at the gesture.

“No, no,” she said, “You don't need to do that, I'm fine with what I have for now-”

“Nay, I insist,” Alvor interjected, “If you want heavy armor, then you're going to get the damn finest set in all of Skyrim. In fact, if you would, come with me outside after supper. I can get your size and make some adjustments. You two, Hogarth.” It was Hugh's turn to be surprised.

“Don't give me that look,” Alvor chided, “you need something more than those fuzzy rags if you're traveling, especially with the dragons and the war. I think some scale would do you fine. Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't really seemed to be a seasoned warrior.”

“Hey, like I said, I came here for the hunting. But I sure as hell got more than I bargained for, so thank you for this.”

“What's a hell?” Dorthe asked.

“Oh uh... another word for Oblivion... in my town,” Huey said hastily.

“Oh, that's weird,” was her only remark as she returned to her meal. Everyone else did, but Huey couldn't shake the feeling of Bastet watching him again.

Later on Hugh and Bastet went outside with Alvor. He took out some measuring tape, got their dimensions, then made some adjustments for Bastet's plate mail and Huey's scale. They went around back into some changing stalls and tried on the armor. Huey had received some extra plain clothes from Alvor and wore them under the mail. It was damn heavy, he thought, even though it was technically 'light' armor. But it still felt _way_ more protective than that fur armor. Bastet clearly didn't have a problem with her plate, since she moved with it so well. He couldn't help but feel slightly emasculated that a cat lady was having no trouble with a set of armor that weighed about as much as she did.

Alvor took in the both of them.

“Looking well, my friends,” said he, but noticed Huey's trouble. “You, Hogarth, must've never worn very good armor. Come here.” Huey, perplexed, went up to Alvor who proceeded to explain a few ways Huey hadn't put on the armor just right. After a few explanations and some tweaking, the armor felt kind of good now. Still heavy to him, but he'd get used to that.

“Yeah, what can I say, this is all new to me,” Hugh said to them. “Adventuring's a li'l different than hunting.”

“In Skyrim, hunting _is_ adventuring,” Alvor said with a laugh. “You never know when you'll run into a sabrecat or a troll. In fact, you both should have some better weapons.”

“Oh Alvor,” Bastet spoke up, “Please, this is enough.”

“I won't hear it,” he retorted stubbornly. “An iron sword and a short bow between the two of you? You won't get very far with that pig sticker and dart thrower. What you need is good steel and a compound bow.” He led them back to his forge where he gave Bastet a brand new steel blade and Huey a nicely varnished and water-sealed bow, plus a quiver full of arrows. Then he threw Huey a new shortsword for good measure.

“There, that's better,” Alvor said with finality.

“We can't thank you enough,” Bastet said to him.

“It's the other way around, lass. You saved my nephew and you're going through all this trouble just to make sure a little old village is protected.”

“Well, let's just call it even then,” Huey said.

“Bah, fine. Damnable humble minds,” Alvor huffed, but was clearly joking.

The gear issue settled, the three of them retired into the house as the sun sunk lower to the horizon. The family and guests conversed for a while as it got darker. Huey stayed quiet for the most part, trying his best to look like he was deep in thought, even though he sort of was. He needed a good alibi in case some serious questions about his past came up. Let's see. Saying he was from Bruma was a good start. It was in Cyrodiil, but was far up north enough to be considered 'Skyrim-like,' even to hardass Nords like Ralof. Imperials and Nords seemed to get mixed up about his 'race,' even though he was French and Irish on his mother's side, then Ukrainian and German on his father's. But he was really just some whiteboy Canadian nerd that played video games and ate pizza.

The hunting profession was his best bet, since he was serviceable with a bow. He didn't have to be _great_ hunter, and he wouldn't be, since it was a rifle he used most of the time. He thought back to his Remington, either accosted by the Thalmor or sitting under a pile of rubble in what was left of Helgen. He wondered if he should ever return there to retrieve it, but that would be later on down the road. For now, stick with Bastet. He was glad she had more family, actually. Ones who were apparently fighters like Bastet. He'd hate to have to rely on them, but considering his sheltered life back in good ol' Ontario, that was all he could do if he planned on not dying a horrible death to a dragon, or hypothermia, or being volunteered for the Giant Space Program.

An involuntary snort escaped him when that image crossed his mind. Thankfully the others were too enthralled by one of Hadvar's legionnaire stories to notice. All except for Bastet. Her eyes shifted briefly to Hugh, but then back to Hadvar. Typical she would be the one to be appraising Huey. He wondered if he should tell her sooner rather than later that he had ended up in the real version of a fictional universe. Probably a different version of the 'original' to be honest, considering the Dragonborn should be a Nord... cannonically speaking.

“Fucking multiverse, man,” he muttered, not caring that Bastet's sharp cat ears definitely heard that. He knew how he could convince he wasn't just playing a joke on her, too. He had his smartphone with him, shoved deep into a pocket. And on it was a good ol' dot AVI of the _The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim_ release trailer. They'd have to be alone, of course. After everyone was in bed. But for now...

Huey got up and left the room quietly. Hadvar had glanced at him briefly, but kept on with his story about how a detachment he had been assigned with had been chased into an old tomb and had to fight a slew of draugr.

Outside in the cool air, he looked to the west. The sun was down, but a streak of orange light hugged the horizon. Huey tried not to think about the fact that the sun wasn't actually a floating ball of burning hydrogen, but a hole into another dimension, making the planet he was on truly the center of the universe. When trying not to think about it failed, he decided to calm his oncoming existential crisis with a cigarette. He walked behind the house to the river where a couple of wooden chairs and a table with a lantern sat on the bank. He took a seat, used his lighter to set the lantern, then lit up his cigarette. He took a drag, the edge slightly coming off as the nicotine seeped into him and calmed his frayed nerves.

Swallowing, he looked at the sunset again. Fuck, it was so simple on Earth. The sun was hundreds of times larger than his own planet, but millions of miles off so it didn't burn the world away. It had its own center of gravity, so it was just a massive ball of fire that provided life-giving warmth and light to a planet that was only habitable by the sheer coincidence of being formed in that sweet spot between being a boiling mess like Venus, or a dried-out husk like Mars. And the stars were all suns too, just very far away. And some not technically burning, just their light finally reaching Earth after the suns themselves were long dead. Easy, simple, comprehensible.

But the thing that gave life to this finger-nail of a magical Earth rip-off was a hole into another dimension that a _very real_ divine being ripped through, because it was disgusted with this dimension. Fucking puffed up twat. The stars were basically the same thing. Wankers, the lot of 'em. Earth orbited the sun, which was tangible and wasn't a hole in the fabric of reality. Nirn just sort of... floated in the middle of a black bubble, surrounded by nasties that all wanted a peace of it. Suddenly radioactive solar flairs and ginormous meteors don't sound like such bad apocalypses when you've got psychopathic daedra wanting to perpetually torture the world instead of just oblooterating it. And now a god dragon wants to eat everyone, then eat everyone again in the after life, digest them, then shit out a new world. Hey, that's what Paarthurnax says. Maybe not in those words, but that's what it sounded like to Huey when he was arguing with that old grey lizard as his Nord character—Pootis—during his first playthrough of Skyrim.

Hugh practically jumped out of his skin when a figure stepped into view beside him.

“Sorry, I didn't meant to startle you,” Bastet said.

“Nah, it's fine. Just thinking about how fucked everything is now.” She huffed, but in an agreeable way as she sunk into the seat beside him.

“Smoke?” he asked, offering her his box of Camels. He'd have to see if this Skyrim had tobacco and paper to roll up. He usually used roll-up cigarettes back at home, but he had been in a hurry to get up into the cabin and just grabbed the pack he had now at a gas station.

Bastet considered the offer briefly, shrugged, then pulled a stick out from the box.

“...Camels?” she questioned, studying the box. Since Hugh was about to spill his guts to her—now seemed a good time as any—he figured it wouldn't do any harm for her to see another shred of evidence of his insanity he wasn't about to question. She could read the surgeon general warning for good measure. Bet Tamriel doesn't have a surgeon general.

“Don't really smoke brand tobacco, but I needed a fix,” he answered. She looked like she was about to say that wasn't what she meant, but then decided not to. He knew by now that _she_ knew there was more to him than just being some dope that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she let him light her smoke (she definitely noticed the cyan plastic see-through lighter) and took a drag for herself. She coughed a little, but mostly kept it down. They were silent for a while, looking up at the stars. Aurora Borealis formed, indigo and streaming across the heavens. That image used to just make Huey stop and look up for minutes on end when playing the game, but here... Jesus Christ. One would think a Canadian would be used to seeing Aurora, but no. Never. Neither here nor the Great White North. But especially not here. There was something ethereal about it here. Probably because it _was_ ethereal.

He looked to Bastet. She was hypnotized as well. He couldn't know for sure, but it was probably the first time she had ever seen such a thing.

“First time?” he asked her. She looked at him, not knowing what he meant. He nodded up at the sky. Understanding came over her expression and she nodded back. They both looked up. “So... I know you've been keeping an eye on me.”

“That I have.”

“Questions?”

“Why don't you try to explain yourself without holding my hand about it.”

“Okay, but be prepared for a world of bum fuckery.” He took in a breath, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the Samsung Galaxy. She looked to him as he stared across the river into the darkish trees. Those massive moons Masser and Secunda threw off a lot more light than old Luna back in his sky, even though his home was closer to it than most folks'.

Finally, he began, “Okay... so... picture everything. Not just Tamriel, not just Nirn. Absolutely everything, the totality of existence. Then picture it being inside a bubble.” She nodded. “So, there's one bubble. But then there are trillions up trillions of other bubbles, all floating next to each other. All different worlds, with different laws of physics, sizes, magical and non-magical.” He looked to her, dead serious, and she looked ever so slightly disturbed that he was going where she thought he was going so earnestly. “I'm from a different one. And not only that, I'm from one where this bubble that we're in now: Mundus, Oblivion, Aetherius, Sithis... fiction. A story. A bunch of stores, that I'm familiar with. Because one of my favorite series of all time is the _Elder Scrolls_ series. It makes _Lord of the Rings_ look like an episode of the _Rugrats_.”

A short silence, they stared at each other. Bastet swallowed, then said, “Next, please tell me the one about the Nord and Imperial walking into a bar together.”

“Not joking.”

“That's what I was afraid of.”

“I know which cliché you're going to say next: 'I know you think you're telling the truth, but you're just insane.' Sort of wish I was, but I'm not. I've got proof. And it's not just the cigarettes and the lighter.” He turned on his phone. He looked at the screen. He had studied it earlier when in the changing stall trying on his armor. He had noticed that the battery meter was at full charge and read like it was charging. Of course it had no bars, but the fact that thing was perpetually charging in—what he assumed—was magical air... well, it'd be useful to convert non-believers with the power of marketing.

He clicked on the Skyrim trailer then handed it to Bastet. She squinted at the screen, then her breath stopped when the images started flashing. Huey looked around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers, but if there had been Bastet probably would have made them go away herself, considering her Khajiiti senses.

“'You should have acted... they're already here! The Elder Scrolls told of their return,'” the voice of the trailer said. Huey looked up at the sky, grinning. Instead of the original trailer, he was envisioning the TF2 parody of it, 'cp_Skyrim.'

“'But! There's one they fear. In their tongue he is known as Dovahkiin. Dragonborn!'”

Huey murmured to himself: “Poo-Tis- _Pow!_ ” as the 'real' Dragonborn shouted, “FUS RO DAH!” He hoped he'd be hearing that a lot more in the future, if Bastet didn't decide here and now to stick his head into the river until he stopped moving.

After a few more moments, the trailer closed. Bastet dropped the phone to her lap and stared across the river, dumbfounded. Huey shifted uncomfortably, staring down at his cupped hands.

After what seemed like an hour, Bastet finally said, “You... this... we can't _not_ be real.”

“Oh ho no!” Huey exclaimed, hopping out from his seat, alarming Bastet a little. He started pacing backing forth. “Oh no, this is real, alright. This is the realest fucking thing I've ever felt! The last time I felt this 'real,' I was t-boned by a drunk driver doing a hundred forty kilos. I broke my arm in three places and four ribs that night, had a concussion, and managed to crawl away out of my old Honda before it got swallowed by a fire. You know, after the guy who hit me ran away, apparently drunk but not drunk enough to not make a run for it.

“And today, I've been on a chopping block, been spit at by a dragon, I dry-humped a giant spider just to save some douchebag thief... and there's a whole shit show out there!” he flailed his arm wildly at the wilderness, “Just waiting for ol' totally-unprepared-for-this Huey Sylvester—that's my real name, by the way—to just take two steps outside of a settlement before I'm anally raped by a bear, then eaten by a troll, but not before being soul trapped by a necromancer, and then having to spend eternity in the most depressing fucking thing I've seen in all five Elder Scrolls games: the Soul Cairn.” He swallowed, a lump in his throat the size of a hockey pock. His arms quivered as he slowly took a seat again, cold sweat on his brow.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, clenching his fists in a poor effort to stop his hands from shaking. Bastet stared wide-eyed at him. She was torn between having her world rocked by this, but seeing that this poor man was in way over his head, and he didn't have a say in it.

“Okay,” she said, breathing slowly. “This... is a lot. I want to help you... but even a Khajiit like me knows that dragons returning is a sign of the End Times. You... you know how this all goes, don't you?”

Huey laughed humorlessly. “Maybe I do, maybe I don't.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she hissed, her ears sinking back and fangs showing.

“There's more than just Alduin and the dragons going on. I... I know who the Dragonborn is...” he forced himself to look at her. She became still, stunned.

“No, that's not right,” she whispered. “The Dragonborn would be a Nord, like Talos. Not a Khajiit wanderer like me.”

“When I was in that cart earlier today, with you, Ralof, Lokir and Ulfric... you were sitting where the Dragonborn was supposed to be sitting. You know how the Divines choose their champions...” she shook her head in disbelief, climbing to her feet, crossing her arms, “they pick the unlikely. Prisoners, mostly. Sort of a fetish for Bethesda... I mean the gods. The Neravarine had been a prisoner, the Hero of Kvatch was before he was released by Uriel Septim... and you were.” She looked to him, eyes wide.

“You're... sure?”

“Positive. But this doesn't mean I'm some sort of... soothsayer, like I'll know everything. The Skyrim I know.... _knew_ , was just a shadow compared to this place. Not even. I may know something out there, but it's just as likely something else is going on. We can't walk into Jorrvaskr and see a brawl taking place between two specific characters just as we arrive, then travel to the College of Winterhold and see one of the professors arguing with that Thalmor asshole. This shit isn't scripted and waiting to trigger when we arrive for the first time at a location, everything's going on at once. So I can't say something and make it true... just like in my world, I can only assume.”

“Then that means I might _not_ be Dragonborn,” she argued.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I doubt it. I arrived at that specific time, and you were in that specific place... and here we are in Riverwood, ready to head to Whiterun tomorrow and tell the Jarl that the village is in danger.” Silence fell. Bastet fidgeted, then sat down again. She rubbed her muzzle, then Huey remembered his cigarette sitting on the table and smoked. Bastet scoffed and did the same. They had almost burned away during the exchange, so there was little left. After they were done, the butts were tossed into the river and they looked to each other again.

“But the Dragonborn in that... moving picture thing you showed me...” she then remembered the phone, she had been clutching it the whole time, and passed it back to Huey. “He was a _Nord_.”

“Here's the thing. The moving pictures... we call them films... movies. Cinema. Videos, mostly. Then we invented video _games_. Moving pictures we could interact with. Where I'm from, the Elder Scrolls is a video game series, a pretty old one, too. I was just a little kid when I first played _Arena_. Heh, I actually had to get an older cousin to beat the first dungeon for me. Even today that shit is almost impossible... anyway, the idea of the game is that you can create your own character, instead of taking on the role of an established one. So, when I started up Skyrim, I wasn't in the role of... Conan the Nordbarian. I could make him or her an Altmer, or an Argonian, and so on. Remember all those bubbles I mentioned?” She nodded. “There's probably millions of them where the Dragonborn is a different person each time.” She laughed humorlessly, shaking her head. He had to laugh too.

“Yeah, it's insane, but there's even a term for it in my word: the Multiverse Theory.”

“The Multiverse Theory,” she repeated, sighing and looking down at her feet.

“Yeah... that. My point is, there's endless possibilities. I just happen to find myself in this one.” She looked up at him then

“Speaking of which,” said she, “ _How_ did you end up here? Tell me everything, spare no details.” He nodded and thought.

“Well... I was up norther, at my family's hunting cabin. I was alone, again. My dad stopped coming after my uncle died, we'd all go together before that. Anyway, I was out in the woods. We had built several tree-perches, where we would sit and wait for game to pass by. Stupidly, I thought the oldest and most rickety one was just strong enough to hold me. Needless to say, after about an hour or so of waiting, then thing collapsed. I fell in the snow... got up...” he shivered. “Then I heard it.” Bastet leaned forward, watching and listening intently.

“I turned around and there was a god damned sabretooth tiger. Now you gotta understand, magic, elves, beastfolk... all that... doesn't exist in my world. It's just humans surrounded by animals. And we used to have sabretooths, but they went extinct literally ages ago. So seeing one in goddamned Ontario, alive and well... well, that and the fact that it was about to eat me. I raised my gun and got a lucky shot in the eye. When I tried to make a run for it... shit really started to go down.”

“How?” she demanded, watching him with eyes ablaze. It spooked him a little, but he pressed on.

“It was completely fucking still all day, not a single breath of air. Suddenly, out of completely nowhere, this gale just knocks me on my face... then it blows _down_. Like, completely vertically, unnatural. I can't get up, it's like I've got a weight on me. I go blind for a few moments as all this noise almost makes me go deaf. Then it recedes, I push myself up... that's where I showed up. Just off the road from the caravan. You and the Imperials saw the flare I shot up. I heard voices, came running... and that's that.” He spread his arms then dropped them. Bastet digested this, the gears in her head grinding. After a while she shook her head.

“I've never heard such a thing. That wasn't some... portal you fell through, but it _really_ sounds like you were brought her by intention. Something like that doesn't just happen... even here, much less your non-magical world.” Huey shivered.

“Fuck... something or someone dragged me here... I guess I always had an idea, but I didn't want to face it. Then again, that means I could still get to the bottom of this... get home.” Bastet nodded, then smiled ruefully.

“So that's why you want to follow me like a lost puppy... you _are_ one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hand at her, looking away, trying to hide his face going red.

“But more than just that. You think I can lead you to someone who can help you.”

“On the nose,” he replied. “Don't be offended or anything, I like you so far.” She laughed.

“I'll try not to be. But for what it's worth, you seem like a decent man. And from whatever sheltered life you came from, you throwing yourself in for Lokir was fairly brave. I can only assume your world doesn't have spiders.”

“Not ones that big, no. The biggest spider on Earth is only roughly the size of my hand. Nah, the scariest things on Earth are Americans.” He chuckled at his own joke while Bastet just smiled awkwardly. But she seemed to know that the joke was to benefit him more than her. They went silent once again, for longer this time. Digesting everything. Hugh lit up his second cigarette, then gave Bastet another. She reached under her chair after taking a drag and placed a bottle of wine on the table.

“Figured we could share it, since we both need it,” she said, sliding the bottle to him. He smiled.

“I've always been a beer guy, but I have a bit of my grandma in me too, so I can drink some wine,” he said. He took a healthy swig then passed it to Bastet.

After she drank some, she said to him, “What was that accident you mentioned earlier.”

It took him a moment to realize she didn't understand the concept of cars.

“Oh, um. Back home, we have vehicles. Sort of like mechanical carriages, they have engines that can propel themselves. They're so common that most people have them. I have one, my mother does, my father does. Industry on Earth is enormous. What you would consider the most decadent luxuries here in Tamriel are common where I live.”

“Wow. I'm sorry, I have to say it: but you really _are_ sheltered.”

“Tell me about it. Anyway, I was driving mine home one night from a friend's house, then I got t-boned by... er. I was going across a crossroad, and some drunk asshole going way beyond the speed limit smashed right into the side of my car... on the side where I drive. My car was older, but thankfully not too old to have decent failsafes. Bags on all sides that inflate instantly and cushion impacts, try and block debris. But still, cars are fast. Faster than anything in Tamriel. And if you hit something that heavy at the speed that drunk shit was going... well, I'm lucky to be alive. Shit, I was lucky just to get away with some broken bones and a concussion. I was laid up in the hospital for a month, but I made a good recovery.”

“And that drunkard hit you and then ran away?” Bastet asked.

“Oh yeah he did. Gave me the old Stephen King treatment. Er, Stephen King is a famous author who got hit by a drunk driver... but he had it way worse than me. He was on foot, was paralyzed for a long time, had to live in a wheelchair. Still, for me I can't say crawling out of your own car half-broken to escape flames while watching some asshole run away without even looking back is really fun.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Bastet said. “I've been in danger, but someone was always there for me. I can't imagine just being left behind, stranger or not.”

“Yeah, he was a stranger, but he was the one who did it.”

“Not much of an excuse.”

“Oh for him? It sure as shit was. He'd been arrested multiple times for drunk driving. That little stunt he pulled landed him some time in jail and a permanent ban from driving. To top it all off, he initially refused to compensate me for damages. The law had to _make him_ cough up some money to get me a new car.” Bastet shook her head.

“Okay, you're right, he's scum that one.”

“And just when you think it's over, there's more!”

“Oh no!”

“I go to a bar with my friends, and I see him, he sees me. I just turn around, don't wanna deal with it. My friends understand. I thought he'd leave it at that. Nope! Comes after me. We don't get in a real fight, but there's a shouting match. He's giving me shit for costing him money. The only reason I don't knock his lights out is because my girl had her hand on my shoulder. Still, it's pretty fucked up when I'm being blamed for his horseshit.”

“Too many of those about,” Bastet said. “Here as well as your realm, it seems.”

“Mm hmm. If there's one thing I can count on, even in Real Skyrim, Alvor's probably the only nice guy in the whole province.” Bastet snorted.

“The border guards almost turned me away, just because I am Khajiit. Not hard to believe, but painful and quite literally an obstacle nonetheless. I had to bribe them.” A short pause as she glowered at the ground. “Then again, if I hadn't crossed, I wouldn't have nearly been executed just because the Empire thought I was a Stormcloak. Pah. Me? A rebel? The Nords don't even allow Khajiit into most of the cities, and I doubt Windhelm is hardly different. Probably the capital of that idea, I'd wager. I have no love for the Empire, but none for the rebels either. And the Thalmor? They're the reason my family no longer live in Elsweyr. We never believed their lies. We knew it was Martin Septim who saved us from Oblivion... and the Champion of Cyrodiil. Even after all these years.” She sighed.

“Dragonborn...” she whispered, twisting the wine bottle in her hand. “If only I'd never bribed them. Just returned to Bruma and sent letters to my sisters.”

Huey shifted in his seat.

“Bastet, listen,” he said, getting her attention. “I want to get home, but if we're going to travel together, I won't make it all about me. I'll help you in whatever way I can.” Bastet smiled gratefully, nodding.

“Thank you... Huey?”

“You can just call me Hugh.”

“No, I like Huey,” she chuckled. “I digress. Thank you. You shouldn't worry either, I will try and help you.” He nodded in gratitude. After another short silence, Bastet stood.

“I think we should probably get some sleep,” she said. Huey got up too.

“Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he agreed.

“Alvor again offered septims to us. He said we could use some old bed rolls and sleep by his hearth if we wanted, but he said he'd rather us sleep comfortably at the inn. Gave us some coin for beds and food and drink if we so desired.” They began to walk back into the village, lantern posts casting a yellow glow on the wooden walls and hay-thatched roofs. The cobblestones beneath their feet were beginning to get slick with frozen dew.

“That guy's a little too kind for his own good,” Huey commented, but was thankful to the man nonetheless. “A little money and food is one thing, but the armor? It's not cheap what he gave us.”

“Yes, but I won't argue,” Bastet said with a grin. Huey laughed.

“Yeah, you were acting all humble trying to say no.”

“If the man wants to offer us his arm and leg, it's his prerogative. We had nothing before his offerings. But I am grateful, honestly.” Huey nodded. They came to the inn and stepped inside. There were more people lingering than Huey expected, and instead of one bard with a lute it was a threesome with a drum, fiddle, and even an actual, bonafide guitar. The music was still all middle agey minstrel stuff, but sounded fuller with the multiple instruments.

Hugh and Bastet approached the counter, and Huey tried not to look like he recognized Delphine. Then tried to not think about punching her in the lip for saying that Paarthurnax should die. Oh shit, it was going to be fun, fun, fun having to tell Bastet about stuff before stuff happens.

“Evenin'. How can I help you?” Delphine asked.

_Attic room so I can hang you from the rafters by your hair,_ Huey said mentally. Instead, Bastet said, “Two rooms. You want anything else?” she turned her head back at Huey.

“No, I'm set,” he replied.

“Two rooms it is,” Delphine said. “Available ones over there,” she pointed to two doors beside each other. Bastet handed her twenty septims and they went to their doors. Huey was ready to sleep, definitely. Being forcibly transferred to a different universe and proceeding to be emotionally distraught by it tended to suck the vigor from one.

“We should awake early, Huey,” Bastet said as they opened their doors.

“I'll be up. Five sound okay?”

“It does.”

“Alright. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.” Huey entered and shut the door behind him. The sound of the patrons and music was muffled beyond. He approached the bed, a wooden frame with some hay stuffed into a cow skin, then covered with a deer-fur blanket. Most people from home would stick their noses up at it, but he sort of liked this rustic stuff. Taking off his footwear and pants, he climbed in and blew out the goat horn candle by the side of the bed, casting the room in darkness. Smirking, he grabbed his phone, set it to vibrate, then set the alarm for five AM. Somehow, probably by magical bullshit, the clock looked to be correctly depicting Sky Time. He wondered if Bastet would actually be up by then. She probably would, since traveling was obviously her lifestyle, but he wanted to test that out.

Ready for the morning, Hugh put the phone on the nightstand and rolled to his side. Thoughts of the horrors in Skyrim tried to make their way inside mind, but he let the sound of the bards distract him. Thankfully it was enough to let him ease into a restful sleep.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Come Together

 

Hugh grabbed the phone from the nightstand as it began shaking violently, rousing him from his slumber. With a groan he swiped the screen and made it stop. For a few moments he kept his eyes closed, hoping that when he opened them he would be back in his cabin on Earth. Or in a hospital, rescued from hypothermia and that weird-ass hallucination about being in skse.exe with the best goddamn ENB mod he had ever seen. But the hide bedding he was wrapped in told him that was just wishful thinking. Sighing heavily he opened his eyes and climbed out of bed. He pulled on his pants and shoes and exited his room.

In the main hall Delphine was tending the fire pit. Behind the counter on the wood-fire stoves a cook fried eggs and potatoes. On the counter itself glass pitchers were full of—what Huey guessed—snowberry juice. Along with a plate of breads that weren't fresh-baked by any means, but had been toasted in the oven for a short time.

“Help yourself to breakfast, no charge,” Delphine said over her shoulder as she pushed the burning logs around with a poker.

_Wow, Skyrim has continental breakfast. Good for them,_ Huey thought.

“Looks good, thanks,” he said. He grabbed a plate of the bread, spread butter on it, poured a mug of snowberry juice and took a seat by the fire pit. Just as he began eating Bastet's door opened and she came out, not hesitating to go for the counter. The cook had just finished a round of eggs and potatoes as she poured herself a glass.

“Eggs, miss?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” said she, grabbing the plate from him. She went to Huey and claimed the seat next to him.

“You're going to eat just that?” she asked, eyeing the bread.

“Never was much of a breakfast guy,” he replied, sipping the juice. And at that moment, he became the first Earthling to know that snowberries tasted like... snowberries.

“Good job, Kynareth,” he muttered with a smirk. “Streamlining fruit juice. IGN would be proud.”

“Are there going to be a lot of those jokes only you will get?”

“And then some.”

The door to the inn opened, letting frigid morning air rush in, making the fire flutter with alarm. A man in thick leather clothes stepped inside, a fur hood and cloak draping over him. In his arms he held a stack of papers neatly bundled with twine.

“White-Horse Courier newsletter for ya,” he said, dropping the bundle on a side table. This intrigued Huey greatly. Meanwhile, Bastet ate her eggs disinterestedly.

As the courier used a knife to cut the twine, Huey called, “Hey, toss us one, wouldja?”

“Will do!” the courier replied, grabbing a paper and underhanding it to Hugh. He grabbed it out of the air, waved his hand in thanks, then looked at the front page.

The head article read: “ _Royal wedding to be held in Solitude in two weeks!_ ” Ah. That must be the one between... uh... that chick you kill in the Dark Brotherhood questline. The Emperor's cousin. It hit Huey then, with no lesser force than a piano falling from the top of a building, that he could stop the whole affair just by going to that farm outside Whiterun and telling a guard that Cicero had the Night Mother in his cart.

“Shit...” he whispered. Bastet's ears twitched at him before her head turned.

“What is it?”

“Shit, uh... no, better not get involved,” he told her, waving his hand.

“Sounded serious.”

“Way serious.”

“So why are you saying we shouldn't get involved?”

“Dark Brotherhood.” When Bastet failed to answer, Huey took that as an indication that she begrudgingly agreed with him. He ignored that article and instead turned to other pages, skimming over opinion articles and editorials all concerning the civil war. One article caught his eye, about Whiterun itself.

“ _Strange girl found nearly dead in fields outside Whiterun, by Talika Vakoff._

“ _No more than two days ago, a patrol of Whiterun Hold guards were making their way down the road west of Whiterun City when they spotted scavengers circling overhead nearby. Normally they would associate this with the natural cycle, but what spurred them to investigate was a struggle where the birds were circling and a weak voice trying to drive them away. When they arrived at the scene they beheld a teenage girl who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, pale and freezing. They quickly drove the birds away and offered her their cloaks, but not without noting her peculiar clothes. Thin, somewhat exposing, and unfit for the climes of Skyrim, even in a warmer area such as Whiterun Hold._

_She wore blue pants of an odd material, bright red canvas shoes, and a black shirt. However, printed in vivid detail on the front was a strange symbol, almost daedric in nature. But emblazoned over the symbol were silver letters spelling 'Evanescene.'_ ” Huey shot up straight, knocking his drink on the floor in the process, eyes wide. A few heads turned and Bastet looked at him, alarmed.

“What is it?” she asked, absentmindedly grabbing the spilled cup from the ground. He didn't reply, but kept on reading.

“ _As the guards brought her back to the city they questioned the girl. She was delirious, saying she was from a place called 'Minasoda.'”_ That had to be Minnesota! She was from _Earth!_ _“When they asked her her name, she replied Johanna before passing out. She was brought to the healing house in the Wind District and is currently under the care of the healers. When one healer was questioned about the girl, he said the one named Johanna was recovering 'Slowly but surely.'_ ”

There was more but that was enough for Huey. He tossed the paper away and got up.

“We have to go, _now!_ ” he said to Bastet. She was confused, but obliged, but not before snatching up the copy of the White-Horse Courier for herself.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Within a few minutes they were in their armor and striding down the road leading out of Riverwood. Bastet's steel sword swung at her hip, the leather creaking against her plate male. While on Huey his bow jaunted slightly against the quiver of arrows on his back, his shortsword snug on his side.

When they were safely out of earshot of any villagers or guards, Bastet spoke up, “I read some of that article. That Johanna girl... she is from your world?”

“Yes,” he replied. “The _Evanescence_ shirt. It's of some lame-o metal band, that's what gave it away. No one in Whiterun has any idea, of course. But this means I'm not alone. There could be more. I'm not the first, then, since the paper says she's been here for two days.”

“Does she play the Skyrim game you think?”

“Dunno. Doesn't matter, she needs to be with us.” He looked to Bastet then. “If you're willing...”

“Of course,” she said back, looking slightly offended. “Since I may be one of the few Tamriel natives that knows the truth of this... it could be happening all over... how do we...?”

“All in good time. Let's just get to Johanna first,” he said back. They hastily followed the road to Whiterun, winding along the White River through tall pines. Soon they came to the plains, yellowish green and going on for miles. Huey was taken aback by the vastness. At first he only thought the plains seemed far bigger because they were here in the flesh, but no, it wasn't a trick of the mind. He could only see the northern mountains as bluish silhouettes on the horizon, meaning they had to be twenty miles out at least. Then he saw Whiterun. It was _enormous!_ Massive walls and towers guarded hundreds of buildings, all climbing the hill they were erected upon to eventually come to Dragonsreach. The old Nord palace itself was twice the size of the 'original' version, both in width and height. Outside the walls sat even more buildings. Stables, farms, mills, and a small outer market of stalls. There were several gates leading into the city, too, not just one.

“As always, real life's a pain in the ass and video games only make things simpler and better,” Huey sighed. “What a fucking zoo.”

“Heh... this place?” Bastet said with a lopsided grin. “Is the game version of Tamriel really that different?”

“Actually, yeah. The game's resources are limited, so... basically they're just abridged versions. This is the _real_ Whiterun. Oh, and by the way...” Bastet looked to him again. “The most populated city on Earth? Tokyo, Japan. Over thirty-seven million.” Bastet's jaw dropped.

“What? No, that's ridiculous. The entire planet of Nirn doesn't even...”

“Oh yeah, Earth. Twenty-seven thousand miles in diameter, total population estimated at seven billion. Cray-cray, huh?”

Bastet shook her head numbly. “And you mock our world for being strange and frightening.”

“Hey, numbers aren't scary. Dragons, daedra, and bad meshes and textures are frightening. Thankfully we don't have the last problem, with good frame-rate to boot.”

“Whatever you say,” she responded with a sigh, shaking her head. Huey smirked as they continued downhill. They followed the road to Whiterun for a good fifteen minutes. The closer they got, the more Huey realized that this truly was the trade hub of Skyrim. Hundreds of people meandered in the markets and hamlets skirting the city. People of every race in Tamriel, selling hosts of exotic items. From combat and survival gear, to food and alchemical ingredients, to clothes and jewelry. It was like the Nexus! No wait, scratch that, there'd be more skimpy sex suits and anime shit if that was true.

Bastet and Hugh waded through the crowds as they made their way towards the central gate. The babble was almost overwhelming, coupled with the vendors shouting from their stands.

“Watch for pickpockets,” Bastet said over her shoulder to Hugh. He kept his hand firmly on Alvor's gifted bag of coins Bastet had split with Huey. Just then, a group of children—urchins most likely—scrambled by, bumping into Bastet and Huey. He was pretty sure he felt a tug at his coin purse, but he kept his hand firmly on it. For a split second he noticed one boy eyeing the shortsword as he passed, but clearly thought better of it. Then just like that, they were gone, melding into the crowd behind the twosome.

After a bit more of maneuvering through the throng of buyers and sellers, they at last came to a final crowd all surrounding the front gate, the multitude shouting at a line of guards standing sentinel in front of the massive wooden doors.

_Oh boy..._ Hugh thought, knowing what this was about.

One bold woman stood in front of the crowd, shouting the loudest.

“You keep us out because of some rumor of dragons returning! But what if it attacks?! You're all safe in your walls while we're stuck out here in the _open?!_ ” she bellowed, the crowd roaring in approval.

“I'm under orders-” one guard began, but was cut off by the woman.

“Ohhh, _orders, orders, orders!_ ” she mocked. “Maybe the Jarl should order you to have a conscience and let these people in!” The people cheered again as the guards remained silent.

Bastet slipped to the front with Huey, coming up beside the woman—an older merchant, dressed in a red dress. She was aging, a few gray hairs in her scalp and forehead, while the rest remained a mahogany color for now.

“You _should_ let them in,” Bastet spoke up. “And the rumors aren't rumors, they're true.” The crowd went quiet.

_Typical,_ Huey thought. They didn't really believe dragons had returned, they just wanted in to the city. It's kind of amazing how an entire continent of people threatened multiple times by fantastical apocalypses can be so cynical every time well-known Elder Scrolls prophecies begin to come true.

“What are you talking about, cat?” the head guard asked, but Bastet and Hugh both heard a touch of apprehension in his voice. The woman who had been arguing with them actually seemed to be the only one that knew what Bastet was talking about.

“My companion and I escaped from Helgen,” she announced, causing the crowd to murmur. “And there _was_ a dragon!” Gasps and shouts erupted, and the guards all glanced at each other, alarmed. “The size of this gate, black as night, and merciless as a daedra. So you may as well open the gates, not like it will make much of a difference. These walls can't stop birds from flying in, but at least they're not giant fire-breathing monsters.”

“At least we can hide inside buildings!” one man shouted.

“Buildings that are _burning?_ ” another retorted.

“But we need to get inside as well,” Bastet spoke again. “To inform the Jarl. You should let everyone else in while you're at it.” The crowd bellowed in approval.

But the head guard returned stubbornly, “But the Jarl already knows about the _rumors_. What makes you think he wants to listen to a lying, flea-ridden cat like you.” There were a couple of laughs from the crowd, but most of them booed and jeered the guard. Bastet remained composed.

“Because I spoke with Alvor from Riverwood. He sent me to request aid from the Jarl. I promised him, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Is that a threat?” the guard retorted, letting a hand rest on the pommel of his sword.

At this Huey decided to put in his two cents, “You know there are way more people out here than just this lot, right?”

“What's your point, Imperial dog?”

“The point is once the 'rumor' starts kicking into full gear, you'll have thousands of panicking people wanting to bash your helmets in just to get inside. Savvy?”

“Another threat, huh?” Huey huffed and approached the man.

“Listen, shitbird, you better let everyone in, or you're going to have a real problem.”

“I don't have a problem at all, I'm following orders, and as long as I do that, I'm in the right.”

“Yeah, sure, okay. But see, here's the thing!” Huey exclaimed as he turned to address the crowd. “This guy is just following more than orders! He _personally_ doesn't want us in the city. And he's even denying two people who have a request to the Jarl for the protection of Riverwood. I think he _knows_ once we say to Jarl Balgruuf what we're going to say, the Jarl will change the orders and let you all in, because he's a decent man.” The crowd murmured in approval.

“So, in some way,” Huey continued, turning to the guard again, “You're... kind of disobeying the Jarl's wishes. He wants his people protected, and lemme tell you, bucko, you ain't doing much protecting.”

“Ah! Fine!” the guard snapped, flinging his hands in the air. He spun around to the other guards. “Stand aside, men, unlock the gate. Tell the other gate guards to do the same. We're letting people into the city again.” The crowd cheered and began clamoring with their belongings as the guards did as ordered. The head guard turned to Huey, however.

“Bet you think you're real clever, don't you?” he growled.

“It's what gets me by.”

“Typical Imperial,” the guard sneered, and with that walked away as the gate opened. Bastet approached as Hugh smiled smugly, she sharing a similar expression.

“Nice work, there,” she said, the two of them making their way into the city.

“Hey, where I'm from, bureaucracy is king. I'm about average at rooting out bullshit at home, but here? Where everything's about honor and people are terrible at lying? It's easy to undo all the loopholes.”

“Hmm. Maybe you're more an Imperial than you realize.”

“Oh I get all the smarminess from my French roots. I'd probably fit right in at Cheydinhal or Chorrol.”

Now that they were both in Whiterun, Hugh could really take in 'real' Whiterun. The streets were broader, bustling with dozens of men, women and children. There was the mostly-familiar sight of War Maiden's by the gate. The forge outside was much larger and had several other blacksmith apprentices, along with... what's-her-name. The outside-merchant. There were iron wares on display outside in locked cases, surrounding the entrance to the building. Across from War Maiden's was the Drunken Huntsman, larger than life and sporting a group of tipsy hunters loitering outside the front entrance with bottles of mead and ale in their hands. There were dozens of other buildings along the winding streets, some shops, others homes. Now _this_ was a city.

“When we get to the Wind District, we should split up,” Bastet said to Hugh. “You can see Johanna in the Healing House, and I'll speak with the Jarl. We'll meet each other outside Jorrvaskr then speak to Oshana. Sound like a plan?”

“Sure does,” he agreed. It took them a good ten minutes of weaving through crowds and pardoning themselves when bumping into someone before they came to the Gildergreen tree, marking the Wind District.

“Wow...” Huey murmured. The buildings in the square were taller and grander, painted with whites and golds and finely trimmed. The Temple of Kynareth was like a wooden version of the chapels in _Oblivion_. Tall and grand, standing above all the other structures besides Dragonsreach. Beside it was the Healing House, actually a wing of the temple. Bastet and Hugh stopped under the Gildergreen, sadly bare of leaves and marked by the lightning bolt that had seemingly killed it. Hugh wondered if someone would eventually quest to save the tree if he and Bastet ignored it.

“Hopefully it won't take long,” she said to him. “Ahem. Any... tips?”

“Uh... seriously?” She shrugged.

“Well... after you tell him everything, he's going to ask you to go on a quest for him. We'll actually have to head back to Riverwood's direction to that Nord tomb Bleak Falls Barrow. They're gonna want us to return with an artifact called the Dragonstone.”

“I see,” she said. He could tell that didn't really help with whatever she was searching for.

“Listen, I can give you all the tips in the world and spoil the entire plot of the not-a-game—which may or may not come true, remember—but that ain't gonna make things that much easier... considering it was kind of predictable.” She sighed, folding her arms and looking up at the tree.

“I guess I'm still trying to wrap my head around all this,” she said softly.

“Welcome to the club.” After a short silence, Huey said, “Okay, I'm gonna check on Johanna. I'll see you outside Jorrvaskr.” She nodded in return and they both went off. Huey entered the Healing House. The room was large and open, brightly lit by roof windows. Across the wide floor rows of cots with feathered mattresses and violet linens adorned the hall. A few were occupied by men and women, changed out of their average clothing into thin white robes. Several priests and priestesses tended the wounded and sickly with potions and the golden glow of healing magic. Hugh observed the magic and potions and their effects. They weren't deus ex machinas, of course. They seemed to only stabilize and offer some pain relief, but the wounds obviously needed to heal on their own.

As Hugh looked around a priestess approached him.

“Greetings, child. You look to be searching for someone?”

“Yes. I'm looking for Johanna?”

“Ah, the strange girl. You know her?”

“I do,” he lied. “Cousin from Bruma. I'm in Whiterun on business, but then I saw that article about her in the White-Horse.”

“I see. Finally, we can find out what is true about her,” the priestess replied, relieved. She lead Hugh through the rows of beds to another room. “She was delirious, wearing those strange clothes, saying she was from places called 'America' and 'Minnesota.' I am no traveler, but I'm educated in Tamriel's provinces and do not know of such places. She said they were a country and a state, after all.”

“The cold must have messed with her mind.”

“Hopefully not permanently. She spoke of these things this morning. By all rights, she is fully recovered. Warm, satiated, and in proper cloth. Distressed, but not manic. She tried to reason with us quite civilly that she is from those imaginary lands.”

“I'll talk to her, see what's wrong. She's always had an active imagination, maybe the shock of what's happened to her is just lasting a little longer than normal.”

The next room they found themselves in was a corridor with several doors. Presumably they were private rooms. One such door was closed. Huey swallowed, the lump in his throat returning. The priestess knocked on the door.

“Johanna, you cousin is here to see you. Are you decent?”

“Cousin?” a girl's voice came from the door. “Yeah, come in.” The priestess pushed the door open and let Hugh in. Johanna sat on the side of her bed, dressed in the same white robes as the other patients, thin slippers on her feet. She was dark haired, the color of earth, with gray eyes; skin pale and young, with her body still maturing. Still a little gaunt with her brush with hypothermia, but otherwise healthy.

Johanna of course didn't recognize Huey, so he spoke to the priestess before Johanna could say anything, “Could you give us the room, please?”

“Of course, I'll be right outside if you need me,” she said back. The door closed behind her, and the two Earthlings faced each other.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“My name's Huey Sylvester. Now don't freak, but I'm from Earth. Ontario.” Her eyes lit up and she jumped out of bed.

“Really?!” she cried.

“I said don't freak!” he hissed. She shrunk back, covering her mouth.

“Sorry,” she said under her hand.

“Just take it easy. You're from Minnesota?”

“Yeah!” She looked surprised. “How...?”

“There was an article about you in the paper, that's how I found this place and came to see you.”

“What the hell is going on?!”

“I don't know. I only, er... 'got here' yesterday. But the paper said you'd been here for two days.”

“Here in this... hospital place,” she corrected. “But I was out in those fields for one other night. It was terrifying. There were _giants!_ And _mammoths!_ I've never played Skyrim, but I know what this place is... are we really there? Uh, here?”

“We sure as shit are,” he moaned, going over to a visitor's chair and slumping into it. “So how'd you end up here? I mean, like, where were you on Earth before you found yourself in the fields?”

She sat down again and recounted, “I was home. My parents were out, and my brother was at work, so I was on my own. I was just watching TV when... this _wind_ just started up _inside the house!_ We had the windows closed because it's freezing outside, but this wasn't just some draft. I got up but got knocked on my back.” She shivered. “Then I went blind for a few moments, all this noise in my ears. And when I could see again... I saw stars. Constellations I didn't recognize. Then I sat up and I was in the field.” She hugged herself and remained silent.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “I was out in the woods when it happened to me. Hunting. Did you see anything else before you woke up in the field?”

“I don't know, I think I was just seeing things... but I thought I saw a... _crab_ before I was knocked down. _Ginormous!_ And gray, but I didn't get a good look at it.”

“Weird. I was a sabercat before I got sent here.”

“Sabercat? You mean like a saber-tooth lion?”

“Yeah. Big motherfucker. Lucky I was hunting, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to shoot it before it attacked me.”

“So wait, you have a gun?”

“ _Did_. Lost it during the tutorial,” he chuckled.

“That's not funny.”

“Hehe, yes it is.” She huffed indignantly.

“So do you actually know how to fight with swords and stuff?”

“Not really. I can do okay with a bow, but we've got a hero on our side who can actually fight.”

“So wait, you're teamed up with the main character?”

“Her name's Bastet, and yes, she's the Dragonborn.”

“What's that mean?”

“It means she can use the ancient powers dragons use, and she's the only mortal that can permanently destroy a dragon by devouring its soul.”

“Eww...”

“It's not gross or anything. They just kind of burn away and she'll absorb them like a black hole of dragon-munching.”

“That's not much of a better picture.”

“Point is we've got friends in high places. Although...” She looked at him inquisitively.

“What?”

“Well, no offense, but you don't seem cut out for this kind of... experience. I know I'm one to talk, but I've already been in a few battles, so I know I can handle myself. But you're just a kid.”

“I'm sixteen,” she snapped. “I know I'm youngish, but I'm not a child. You can't be much older.”

“I'm thirty.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, if you thought I looked twenty or something, I'll take the compliment. Anyway, you _are_ a kid, considering you like _Evanescence_ -”

“Hey!”

“But could you honestly say that you'd be able to keep cool in a tomb full of draugr?”

“What are those?”

“Ugh, they're zombies with swords. Or giant spiders?”  
“I love spiders.”

“Yeah, well, spiders don't love you. And here they're taller than most people. Also, they spit venom as well as injecting it.”

“Okay, okay... you've made your point,” she mumbled.

“Look, I'm not going out of my way to try and upset you. I'm trying to protect you. But at the same time, we should stick together. Bastet is our best chance at getting back home. She'll come across people who might know about what's happening.”

“Do you think we'll find others like us?”

“Maybe. But we'll need to find out more than just getting home. We need to stop this so it doesn't happen to other people.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding vehemently. “Do you... do you think if we get back, everything will be... normal?”

“Like we never left? I really can't say... but I doubt it. I say that so you should... prepare yourself. This could take months to get to the bottom to. And we'll be considered missing persons if months go by back on Earth. Well, you'd be missing. I'd probably be declared legally dead, since I disappeared in a remote area.”

“Oh my God!”

“Yeah, fun times,” Huey muttered, clasping his hands. There was a long silence. Johanna played with the strings on her robe while Huey sat in thought, brooding at the floor. But he needed to get back to it.

“So,” he spoke up, rising to his feet, “Did the priestess clear you to leave yet?”

“They think I'm crazy,” she said, chuckling humorlessly. “I wish I was.”

“I know the feel.”

“I think they'll let me leave. But I probably shouldn't be wearing jeans and a tank around the middle ages. Or this freezing-ass place.”

“I've got you covered. I could buy you some good traveling clothes. But for now, just put on your old clothes. People won't really care, they'll just think you're weird.”

“Nothing new there.”

“How's that?”

“Oh you know. I'm the weird girl because I like video games and metal.”

“Meet the new century, same as the old century. Also, _Evanescence_ equals metal? Does not compute.”

“Don't be an elitist!”

“Oh I'm all sorts of elitist! I like trve kvlt medul! I am a part of the PC Master Race, and I'm a nostalgic eighties kid. And to top off the cancer, I use the word 'cancer' metaphorically.”

“I guess I should just jump off a cliff right now, then,” she sighed, stepping behind a screen and changing into her old clothes.

“It'll save you the trouble of going insane.”

“So anyway, who's Bastet?” She gasped. “Is she a kitty like the ones I saw outside the city?!”

_Uh oh..._ “Yes, she's a _Khajiit_. Don't be a weaboo furry about it and make it weird for all of us.”

“Wow, you're a dick!”

“The biggest. Seriously, though, don't make it weird.”

“Well I'm sorry if meeting cat people is normal to you.”

“It ain't. I just don't make it weird.”

“Wow.”

“Yep, I'm a real pain in the ass, and I love me for it.”

After Johanna was dressed, the two of them left the room. The priestess smiled at Johanna.

“Good to have some family by you side, yes?”

“Yup. I love my cousin!” she proclaimed, wrapping her arm around Hugh's shoulders.

_Laying it on a little thick, there,_ Huey groaned mentally. But the priestess beamed, apparently not much smarter.

“Good to see you in high spirits! I presume you're from Bruma, as well?”

“Sure am!”

“Good. Glad we got that America nonsense out of your poor head.” It took every fiber of Huey's being not to burst out laughing at that.

“So... oh, uh...” Johanna looked worried all of a sudden. “How much do I... owe you?” The priestess looked startled, holding her hand over her chest.

“My dear girl, this is the House of Kynareth! She does not seek money. She seeks to soothe the hurt and ill. You were such, and by her mercy, are now not. Pray thanks at her alter, and simply be on your way.”

Johanna smiled (a bit awkwardly) then went with Huey down the hall. The priestess entered Johanna's old room, probably to tidy up. The two Earthlings entered the main hall of the temple. At the end upon an altar sat the violet iron, sapphire owl statue: Kynareth's shrine.

“Probably should pray to her, since she's real here,” Hugh said to Johanna.

“But I'm Christian,” she whispered back.

“That's a whole universe away, Johanna. I could get into an atheistic argument over it, but here, in this world: the Nine Divines have proven multiple times how real they are. And I bet Kynareth really did save you, because by all rights, you should've been eaten by the wolves and sabercats that roam the fields.” She turned to him, wide-eyed.

“Look,” he said, putting her hand on her shoulder, “I'm not saying these things to freak you out, I just want you to understand how this place works. Or, how the real version works anyway. You've never played Skyrim, I have, but that doesn't really matter. We're both more vulnerable here than we ever have been in our lives. We don't have electricity, super markets, police officers or cars. Just the clothes on our backs. So I suggest we both pray to every god in Aetherius when we can, including Talos, so fuck anyone who says there's only Eight Divines.”

“Heh, you sound like my super hardcore religious aunt, only she'd say Jesus.”

“Yeah, well, as an atheist it's my responsibility to amend my beliefs when there's physical proof of a deity.”

“Whoa...”

“Keanu Reeves, nineteen ninety-nine.” Johanna laughed at that. It made Huey feel slightly less like an asshole, considering all the hard truths he had been putting on her in all twenty minutes of knowing her. So they approached the shrine and knelt before it together. Huey had once identified as Catholic when he was a teenager, but had started disbelieving all that a little before turning twenty. But here, now? This was probably as strange for him as it was for Johanna.

_Kynareth... listen, I know you love nature, and your Spriggans are your wrath given form on Nirn... but seriously, people have to eat and build their homes. So maybe tone down the 'fucking kill everything' default setting Spriggans seem to be on all the time. Unless, you know, that was just Bethesda being lazy with their AI, because they've always been good at AI. Wait, what the fuck am I doing, you're probably actually listening-_

Huey—trying really hard to be graceful—stood from the shrine, almost habitually doing the Father, Son and Holy Spirit gesture. He felt stupid, having just telepathically sent a rude letter to a divine being. Johanna followed his lead, started to get up, then actually did the sign of the cross. She gasped slightly when she realized her slip. Huey couldn't take it anymore and finally laughed. Heads turned and he quickly shut himself up.

“Alright, time to go,” he said hastily, taking Johanna by the shoulder. He smiled politely at some of the healers as they left, their eyes following him with befuddled looks. At last they were outside in the sunny, warmish Whiterun Hold air. Johanna stopped to gaze around, mesmerized by the sights around her. Huey took the opportunity to light himself a cigarette.

“Eww, do you know how bad those are?” Johanna scolded.

“Ugh, don't be a poser,” he replied with fake Goth kid tone “If you want to be a non-conformist, you have to drink coffee and smoke cigarettes like the rest of us.”

“I don't... know that one.”

“You don't watch _South Park_?”

“No way, that show is so rude!”

“Talos save me...”

“Are you seriously going to be doing that?”

“Yeah, I am. Unlike the other place, someone might actually be listening.”

“Uch. Whatever.”

“Come on, we have to meet Bastet,” Huey grunted, sticking the cigarette in his mouth so he could puff and walk. They walked around the Gildergreen, and then came to—ugh—Heimskr.

“...So rise up, Stormcloaks! Riiiise up, children of the Empire!”

“What's with that guy?” Johanna asked.

“He's the village annoying-fuck,” Huey answered.

“Sounds more like a preacher.”

“Same difference.”

“What's he going on about?”

“So basically there's a group of Elven Nazis—the Thalmor—who are trying to keep the human race under thumb, and they outlawed the worship of Talos because he's the only mortal man to ever ascend to godhood. There was this big war, and the Thalmor won, and made the Empire their bitch. So the Stormcloaks are Skyrim Nords fighting for independence from the Empire, and now the Empire is here trying to quell the rebellion because Skyrim by law is part of the Empire. That's the basic version, anyway.”

“Okay, note to self: Stormcloaks rule.”

“Aha! It's not that simple, Johanna. But we'll get into that later,” he said, nodding over in the direction ahead of him.

At the top of the stairway that lead to the Jorrvaskr Mead Hall (twice the size of the 'original') Bastet waited, leaning on a lamp post.

“She's beautiful,” Johanna whispered in awe.

“Remember, _don't_ make it weird,” Huey muttered. Bastet stood straight when Johanna and Hugh approached.

“All is well?” she asked, looking at Johanna.

“Um, y-yes, thank you,” she said back. “I'm uh, I'm Johanna.”

“So I've heard,” Bastet replied, holding out here hand. Johanna went for the hand but Bastet clasped her by the wrist. Johanna fumbled to do the same.

“Uh, sorry,” she said hastily, shaking and letting go. Bastet glanced at Huey with a brow slightly raised.

“Kids, eh?” said he. Johanna shot him a venomous look at that.

“Well, stick with us, girl. We'll keep you safe,” Bastet assured Johanna. “So, Hugh. How do you think we should tell my sister about your... predicament?”

“Same way I told you.”

“That's it?”

“What, you want me to draw up some pie charts and a power point? Showing her the video will be fine, it's pretty compelling evidence.”

“She can be stubborn.”

“Well you're her sister, you keep telling her what's what and she'll come around.”

“You don't know her like I do.”

“Yeah, I've heard that one before. She'll come around. For now, let's just get her to join the Dream Team and go raid us a sacred tomb full of peacefully sleeping spirits.”

“Just don't put it like that, she's a bit superstitious.”

“Oh joy.”

“Indeed.”

The threesome stepped to the doors of Jorrvaskr. Leaning against the wall outside was a tall man in steel armor. Huey didn't recognize him. He was black haired and green eyed, with a thin goatee circling his lips. He was maybe a little older than Hugh, and had a small scar on his cheek that shined in the sunlight. He looked at them disdainfully.

“What's your business here?” he demanded. “I know it's not to join, none of you look like Companion material.”

“I've come to see my sister, Oshana,” Bastet replied nonplussed.

“Oh, her,” he grumbled. Hugh thought he saw hint of jealousy on his face. Uh oh, looks like someone's being out-shined. “Last I saw she was out back. What do you want with her anyway?”

“I don't see how that's any of your business,” Johanna said suddenly, trying way too hard to sound tough. Huey had to hide a cringe and resist facepalming. The man's gaze fell upon her. She swallowed at that.

“Don't you have school work to do, girl?” he sneered at her. Hugh again had to stifle a snort, but he stepped in.

“Lay off, pal. She's new in town, trying to impress everyone.”

“Wow, great help,” she retorted.

“Enough,” Bastet growled. “We have better things to do than argue with a whelp.”

“What did you call me?” the man snapped, standing straight with daggers in his stare. But she ignored him and lead Hugh and Johanna away. Hugh thought he would pursue, but he just muttered to himself, storming back into the mead hall. What a poser.

They wrapped around the hall and came to the back patio. At one of the tables sat Aela the Huntress, her unmistakable blue face paint and armor making her stand out from the other Companions in their steel and Wolf armors. Beside her was seated a Khajiit, definitely Bastet's sister. She had dark, charcoal gray fur and amber eyes, with her ears were done up with tufts in the style of a lynx. She wore armor similar to Aela's, only black and gray. She was leaning back with a cup in one hand, lazily playing with one of the tufts on her ear while Aela discussed something. Hugh wondered if Oshana had found out about the beastblood yet... or had partook.

Oshana turned and saw Bastet as they came closer. A grin came across her face and her ears shot right up. Aela followed her gaze as Bastet strode over, a wide smile on her face as well. Oshana stood immediately and both greeted each other in the Khajiiti tongue. Aela watched with an interested expression as the two embraced each other, babbling in their language and laughing. Johanna and Hugh came to the table, Aela taking notice of them.

“Hmph, the 'Strange Girl.' What was a milk drinker like you doing in those fields at night?” the huntress asked callously.

“Well, I, uh...” she stumbled.

“Out with it, girl!”

“Ah give the kid a break, she's had a rough time,” Hugh interjected. Which was partly true, but he mainly said that because they didn't really have a cover story explaining how she ended up in the Whiterun Plains. He just hoped Aela wouldn't ask anymore questions.

“Quite,” she said back, but had a clear look of suspicion as she took in Johanna, and Hugh for that matter, despite him looking more 'the part' with his armor. She decided to ignore them, thankfully, and turned back to the sisters.

“I guess you're Bastet, considering you're not throwing about spells and being smug about it.”

“You'll meet Jasi soon enough, Aela. I just know how excited you are for that moment,” Oshana shot back.

“Oh I'm waiting with bated breath,” the huntress replied.

“For now you'll have to contend with Bastet... and her new friends...” Oshana at last took notice of the Earthlings, but not without some appraising disdain.

“Hogarth and Johanna,” Bastet introduced them. “I met Hogarth on the road, he gave me a hand dealing with an ambush of frostbite spiders, and it's better to travel with a partner. In fact he knows Johanna. He was on his way to Whiterun to retrieve her when he spotted me having trouble with those insects.”

“Pleasure,” Hugh said to Oshana, offering his hand. She 'wrist shook' him, then did the same to Johanna.

“Well, I can see you all want to get caught up,” Aela spoke as she rose from her seat. “We can talk later, Oshana.”

“Of course,” she said back, and Hugh noticed she looked a little troubled. Maybe this _was_ about the beastblood. When Aela took her leave, Oshana turned back to Bastet.

“So what happened on your way here? You look troubled, and I can tell it has little to do with a few spiders.”

“Is there somewhere more private we can speak?” Bastet asked.

“There are a few rooms in the bottom floor of Jorrvaskr where we can speak undisturbed. Come.” With that Oshana led them into the mead hall. The interior was cavernous almost, much like the game version of Dragonsreach. A fire pit roared at the center of a collection of long tables covered in fine plates and goblets, all stacked with rich food and drink. A great number of Companions ate and talked at the tables, swapping stories, telling jokes, and arguing as warriors do. The guy that was outside earlier sat away from the center tables and instead drank from an amber bottle in a corner seat, eyeing their little company sourly, especially Oshana. Looks like someone has to attend Jelly School, m'kay?

The foursome descended a flight of stairs into the 'cellar' of the mead hall; long and sporting at least two dozen doors. Oshana made a beeline for one door and pushed it open. She stood aside to let them enter the small room. A circular table sat at the center beneath an iron chandelier of goat-horn candles. It was a pretty sparse room, and only seemed to just be a Nordic conference room. They all took seats across from each other after Oshana shut and locked the door.

“So,” the dark-haired Khajiit sighed, “What happened? And who are these two, really?”

“Well...” Bastet swallowed, clasping her hands on the table. “For _me_ , it began when I tried to cross the border. Imperials and Stormcloaks were in a skirmish, just my luck. But it was more than that. Ulfric himself was with those Stormcloaks.”

“I've been hearing that rumor that he was captured but then escaped because of a... dragon. That can't be true... can it?” Oshana asked. Bastet sighed wistfully.

“I am afraid so. The Imperials captured me along with them, declared me a rebel as well.”

“Gods, Bastet... you... they were...”

“Yes... I was in line on the chopping block.” Oshana cursed in Khajiiti. “You shouldn't worry now; I'm here, I'm fine.”

“I know, but just the thought of those cretins falsely accusing you... then _murdering_ you!” Oshana shivered, but Bastet took her hand, murmuring some words of comfort in Khajiiti. Oshana smiled gratefully and said something back before they both leaned back in their seats.

“But honestly,” Bastet continued, “That's the _least_ interesting part. A dragon appeared before the rest of the executions could take place. It uttered something in its language, made fire fall from the sky! Just like in those stories Baymar used to tell us back in Rimmen.”

“But doesn't the prophecy state dragons returning a sign of the End Times?” Hugh let out in involuntary snort. Oshana looked sharply at him, then said, “I assure you, it's no laughing matter. You should be more aware of the Elder Scrolls prophecies, since people seldom are.”

“Oh it's not that,” Hugh said back. “I agree with you, actually. It's just, how many 'End Times' has Tamriel been through? A handful. And as far as I can tell, the times haven't ended. The prophecies should be renamed, 'Some tool _tries_ to end the world, but really sucks at it when he's defeated by a mortal.' Like, every time.” Johanna started snickering at that.

“So true,” she said.

“And... that's when this fool comes in,” Bastet sighed, gesturing at Hugh, who waved and grinned at an unimpressed Oshana.

“Oh I came in, alright,” he replied, reaching into a pocket and pulling out his phone.

“Oh... I wonder if mine works...” Johanna said suddenly, pulling an iPhone from her pocket. “Charging? But it's not plugged in!”

“Here,” Hugh said, letting Oshana take the device with a perplexed look. “Take a gander, Ned Flanders.” Bastet watched her sister as the trailer began playing.

“What is this daedric trickery?” Oshana demanded, but her attention on the screen was rapt.

“That's also something I should consider,” Hugh thought aloud. “Maybe a daedric prince was in on it.”

“That could be problematic,” Bastet remarked.

“Like it already isn't?”

“A what prince?” Johanna asked.

“Demon lords, basically,” Hugh explained. “Tamriel has, I think, twelve demi-Satans. Although two of them are actually good...ish, and one just wants to party hardy.”

“This is ridiculous,” Oshana blurted out as the trailer ended. She tossed the phone onto the table, shaking her head, but it was clear she was shaken up. “What even was that? And who are _you?_ The both of you.”

“For the record I haven't played Elder Scrolls,” Johanna put in. “I'm more into JRPGs.”

“I think they have a cream for that,” Hugh shot back, making Johanna pout at him. “But the important thing here is... well, Johanna and I are from a different world. Well, universe. Yeah, an entire universe,” he said to Oshana when she gaped at him. “You have aedra and daedra and Oblivion, and we have... uh, infinity that might not be infinity. Some scientists say our universe—as ginormous as it is—is finite, while others add that it's expanding. But that's not important-”

“Um, hold on, yes it _is!_ ” Bastet cried. “You said with that... multiverse thing that our worlds are all bubbles floating next to each other! If yours is expanding then doesn't that mean it might collide with _ours?_ It could explain how you got here.” Johanna and Hugh looked at each other. She was pale, and so was he, probably. Poor Oshana was just lost and looking between the three of them dumbly.

“Okay, that _might_ be true,” Hugh said, “But the whole expanding thing is a theory. Sure there's _some_ evidence of it being true, but nothing's confirmed. Right now I think we should just focus on the dragons, and then how we're going to get me and Johanna home.”

Bastet sighed, rubbing her eyes with her palms. She looked to Oshana then.

“Sister, I know this is hard to believe, but... there's some truth ringing to it. Hugh... somewhat knows what goes on in this Skyrim, based on his experiences with the fictitious one.”

“Like he's a seer?” Oshana asked, looking incredulously at the Canadian.

“Eh... sorta,” Hugh said. He looked to Bastet. “So did the Jarl send you on the quest for the Dragonstone?”

“He did,” Bastet said, nodding, looking at Oshana. “Hugh said that would happen, and it did.”

“It doesn't mean I'll be right every time,” he added. “If you're questioning your existence right now, don't. You're not the product of someone else's imagination in a different realm.”

“I thought as much briefly,” Bastet said. “But he's right. We can't explain how our world can be fictitious in another, but what's important to know is that we _are_ real.”

“So what is it we're going to do?” Oshana asked. “Search for the Dragonborn?”

“Well... don't really have to...” Hugh said, jerking his thumb at Bastet. Oshana blinked silently.

“She... no, no, that's ridiculous... er, no offense, Bastet. But the Dragonborn was a nord in that... thing you showed me.”

“That's the thing with the Skyrim game,” Hugh argued “The Nord you saw was a placeholder, but in the game you can create your own character, and he or she could be of any race in Tamriel, including Khajiit. Plus, even in actual Tamrielic history, there have been Dragonborn people of non-nordic descent. So it's not so far-fetched to say a Khajiit can be the next Dragonborn.”

“It is the will of the Divines, Oshana,” Bastet said. “Anyone can be a hero in times of crisis, and the Divines can pick anyone.” There was a short silence. Oshana stood and leaned against the wall with her arms folded, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

At last, she turned back and said, “I will come with you on your task. If you really are Dragonborn... I will be with you until the end. The Companions will have to wait... although honestly, I don't think there's much left for me here anyway.” She murmured the last sentence to herself, but Bastet heard.

“Why is that, sister?” Oshana shook her head.

“A disagreement I am having with the Circle... the veteran members of the Companions.” Bastet could see Oshana didn't want to reveal too much about it, so she decided to leave it at that.

“That's unfortunate, I know how much you wanted to be here after listening to Baymar's tales.”

“Ahh...” Oshana waved her hand. “They were tales, nothing more. They're decent people, and I've had some good adventures, but we just don't see eye-to-eye on key things. Let's just hope Jasi is having a better time at the college.”

“Or not,” Bastet joked. Oshana snickered.

“Oh come now. Even Jasi would have to pause her precious study of the 'arcane arts' to help her dear little sisters, magicless bags of meat as they may be.” The two of them laughed together.

Johanna leaned towards Hugh and asked quietly, “Why is it that mages are always pompous in fantasy stories?”

“Because tropes. What else is there?”

“Good point.”

“So,” Oshana said, turning to Hugh and Johanna with a smirk, “Can these whelps actually fight?”

“Hugh is decent with a bow. Her, I doubt,” Bastet answered.

“Well?” Oshana asked of them expectantly.

“Oh, uh, um...” Johanna sputtered.

“Yeah, what she said,” Hugh interjected, waving at Bastet.

“Well I've got to contribute _somehow!_ ” Johanna exclaimed.

“You can not get in our way, I think that would be best,” Oshana said.

“I don't know,” Bastet said back thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. “Maybe she can assist us if we get hurt, be ready with potions and healing scrolls.” Hugh smirked at Johanna and nudged her.

“There, Jo, you get to be the White Mage.”

“Oh yeah, and what're you?” she demanded.

“I'm the Cuntsman Sniper, obviously. Probably should start drinking a lot so I can have some Jarate ready.”

“Ew!”

“Is this going to be a regular occurrence with them?” Oshana asked Bastet dryly.

“I'm afraid so,” she answered with the same tone.

“Don't worry, you'll get used to it,” Hugh said, heaving himself from the chair. “We'll try not to embarrass you too much in front of important people.”

“Like I care what a bunch of smelly nords think,” Oshana shot back.

“Well, well, I see being here has really gotten to you,” Bastet remarked with a smirk.

“I was at Windhelm a few weeks ago. That damned cesspit has left a sour taste in my mouth, from the Nords and Dunmer alike. But Windhelm is Windhelm, it's been fine here,” Oshana said. She went to the door and unlocked it.

“So...” she looked to the three as they stood side-by-side. One armored warrior, one armored hunter pretending to be a warrior, and one high schooler in an _Evanescence_ T. “These are my new Shield-Sisters and Brother, it seems. Gods help me.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Tomb of the Mutilated

 

“That's all your offering?” the stable hand scoffed at Oshana while she glowered back.

“You're _lucky_ this is what I'm offering for three sub-par animals,” she shot back, glancing behind him at three mildly skinny horses. Behind her, Bastet, Hugh and Johanna waited patiently. Johanna had finally gotten a change of clothes in the form of fur armor reinforced with some leather plates, so it was a cut above the usual brand.

Meanwhile, the stable hand swelled at Oshana's remark... a little to much actually. Oshana smirked.

“You can stop the fake outrage, you look like a swollen frog trying to ward off predators.”

“Ha!” Johanna cawed.

“Ugh, fine,” the stable hand scoffed. “S'not my fault, though. Shipments-”

“Yes, I'm sure it's very unfortunate. Don't worry, we'll take care of the animals for you,” Oshana interjected as she offered him a large bag of gold. The stable hand took it begrudgingly then turned to two teenage boys waiting in the stable.

“You two, get some saddles on those nags!” The boys did as told while the hand did one horse himself. At last the animals were ready for travel and given to the foursome.

“Poor thing,” Johanna cooed at her mare, stroking her muzzle. The horse nuzzled her back.

“Yeah, they're probably better off with us than Mr. Krabs over there,” Hugh said, making Johanna laugh.

“You may have a point,” Bastet agreed as she fed hers a carrot.

“How about... _Arya!_ ” Johanna named her steed, glowing.

“So the girl has a name,” Hugh commented, Johanna giving him a grin and a wink back.

“What about you guys?” Johanna asked the sisters.

“Mmm, I think maybe S'cassa,” Oshana said.

“You're going to name a horse after Mother's Sister?” Bastet said to her.

“Would you argue not to?”

“No.” The two of them laughed together.

“In that case... Yova for mine,” Bastet decided.

“Uncle or something?” Hugh asked with a smirk.

“Cousin. When we were cubs he always made it a point to push me into something. A person, water, mud, ant hill, anything. He stopped on the day I pushed him into a cactus ass-first.”

“Soothing.”

Bastet chuckled. “I received a thrashing from Father on the same spot for that, but it was well worth it.”

“What about your steed, Hugh?” Johanna asked.

“How abooouuut... well, that dumbass just handed me over the stallion,” he observed, leaning down and looking under the horse. “So, let's take Jerma away before that guy notices.”

“That's it? Jerma? What even is that?” Johanna asked.

“Can't talk, riding,” Hugh said back, ignoring her question as he put a foot in a stirrup and heaved himself onto the saddle.

“So, uh, probably should've mentioned this, but I don't know how to ride,” Johanna said as she clumsily mounted her new steed.

“Press the 'any key' then hit 'Q' to auto-walk,” Hugh instructed her with a grin as he spurred Jerma to trot around Arya and Johanna.

“So are you ever going to actually be helpful to me, or are you just going to be a prat?” Johanna grunted at him as her horse shifted indignantly beneath her.

“The _two_ of you should stop acting like children,” Oshana snapped from the back of S'cassa.

“What did I do?!” Johanna asked shrilly.

“It would have been helpful for you to tell us you don't know how to ride,” Bastet replied pointedly.

“It isn't hard,” Hugh told Johanna. “Just lightly tap Arya's sides with your heels to get her to walk.” Johanna did as instructed and Arya started to walk forward. The other three companions rode just ahead of her.

“Simple,” Bastet said. “Now, whichever direction you want your animal to go in, look in the direction yourself whilst pressing your heel into the left or right side. It also helps to stretch your reins in that direction.”

“Okay, yeah, this isn't too bad...” Johanna said with a grin as she made Arya slalom gently.

“Yup,” Hugh said. “Just like riding a bike. Only your bike is enormous, alive, has a mind of its own, and can kick you off if it doesn't like your attitude.”

“Again with the helpfulness,” Johanna retorted.

“He has a point, though,” Oshana agreed.

“Don't fret. As long as you treat the animal right, she'll be loyal,” Bastet added.

“I'd never mistreat her,” Johanna promised.

“No worries, then,” Hugh said.

Finally the foursome were off, riding away from Whiterun back to the direction of Riverwood. The sun climbed higher and grew warmer as the day went on. The hooves of their mounts clopped against the cobblestone road winding over the barren hills and into the pine forest to Riverwood. The trek back was shorter with the horses, and soon they found themselves approaching the bridge to Riverwood.

“Cute town!” Johanna commented as she gazed at the buildings.

“That trail leads to the tomb,” Bastet said to the group, nodding at said trail that climbed the ridge leading up to the snow-peaked mountain. “We should leave the horses in town where they'll be safe.”

“Agreed,” Oshana said back. They left the horses at Riverwood's stable, then doubled back across the bridge and began trekking the path leading the Bleak Falls Barrow.

The walk took a good ten minutes before the air began to get more frigid and snow crunched under their boots. Oshana and Bastet lead the way. Hugh followed behind and Johanna stuck close to him.

“So... are there going to be zombies in this tomb?” she asked timidly.

“Unfortunately,” Hugh sighed. “They're technically called draugr, and they can use weapons and magic.”

“Oh, that's even better!” Johanna exclaimed.

“Shh!” Bastet hissed at her. Johanna closed her mouth tight.

“Bandits ahead,” Oshana whispered, motioning for them to follow her behind some boulders. Snow was beginning to fall, but ahead they could see an ancient watchtower with lights in the windows. Outside the front entrance two men stood together chatting idly, covered in fur and leather armors.

“I spotted movement in the tower, but I can't tell how many might be in there,” Oshana said to Bastet. Hugh decided this was a good time to bring out something he had hidden from the Imperials when they had taken him prisoner. He crouched at the edge of the rock and looked through a pair of binoculars at the tiny windows. Oshana and Bastet waited for him to assess their targets.

“Looks like two different people in there,” he murmured. “But that doesn't mean there aren't more.”

“Mayhap we should let Hugh shoot the first two with his bow, attract the attention of the others. They might come out running,” Oshana offered.

“No, I saw bows on the two inside,” he said. “They'd just hole up in there and wait for us to show ourselves.”

“I have the plate armor here,” Bastet said. “Hugh should fire upon the two outside while I charge in. Once I'm inside, you come after me, Oshana.”

“I suppose that's our best option,” Oshana agreed with a shrug.

“Sounds risky,” Johanna spoke up in a small voice.

“Combat is always risky. You just be sure to stay out of harms way,” Bastet said back. She put on her steel helmet, obscuring all but her eyes, then drew her sword. She poised herself against the boulder and looked to Hugh. He readied his bow, nocked an arrow, and took aim. His nerves tingled and he swallowed against a dry throat. He was about to attack two people out of the blue. Sure they were probably murderers themselves, but still...

“I go when you open fire, Hugh,” Bastet said to him. He nodded. He overdrew the bow a little, clenching his jaw.

“This is gonna be a real piece of piss you bloody fruit shop owners,” he murmured with a nervous grin, then released the arrow. The bowstring snapped with a sharp _twang!_ and the arrow whistled forth. The bandit it struck choked as the missile pierced his throat, his buddy crying out. Bastet was already charging ahead, her armor clanging angrily as her boots pounded the frozen earth. More noise could be heard from the tower. Hugh saw a figure peer through the window, curse, then begin to load a crossbow.

“Shit!” Hugh hissed, switching his priority from the bandit outside the entrance to the one with the crossbow. Oshana saw too and gasped. Hugh was on it though. He nocked, drew, then released at the window. No killing blow, but his hasty shot struck the shoulder of the woman and she cried out as she was thrown to the floor, the crossbow slipping from her grasp out the window. Bastet snarled like a beast at the outside guard as he finally got his bearings and prepared for combat. However his mace was to slow and cumbersome, and by the time he raised it to strike, Bastet had already thrust her blade right through the furs and into his heart. The man choked and stumbled back as Bastet kicked him off her blade, slick with crimson.

Suddenly a burly man bellowed like a bear as he charged out of the tower, dressed in rusty iron armor and wielding a two-handed axe. Oshana at last bolted from their cover, flying across the ground with a shortsword at her side. Bastet just barely dodged a sideswipe from the axe wielding bandit as Oshana closed the distance between them. Hugh kept an eye out for the other archers, only to notice just in time that one had climbed the top and was targeting _him!_ He ducked just as a missile whizzed overhead. Johanna let out a small scream as she covered her head.

“Good shot, mate!” Hugh shouted up at the archer as he prepared to retaliate.

“I'll make you eat those words, _and_ my arrows!” the man roared back. Hugh was quicker though, and he fired at his opponent. The arrow stuck him in the shoulder just as he pulled the string of his bow back. He cried and let loose into the air, the projectile splitting onto the rocky side of the mountain. Below, Oshana and Bastet overcame the big fella. Bastet rammed her shoulder into his side just so he could stumble into Oshana's blade, which greedily lobbed off his head.

“To Oblivion with this!” one voice shouted from the tower. They saw someone drop to the ground behind the tower.

“Scum!” Oshana snarled, picking up the crossbow that had dropped and popping the runaway in the back of the head. Up above, the archer that had been shot stupidly stood to try and run, only to be finished off by another shot from Hugh. After that, it was quiet, only the sound of wind and the breaths of the company. Hugh emerged from the boulders, Johanna close behind and shuddering at the sight of the death and gore.

“Good job on that bitch with the crossbow,” Oshana said to to Hugh.

“Yes, thank you,” Bastet said as she took off her helmet, somewhat out of breath. “No offense to Alvor, but I may as well have been wearing tin armor against that.”

“I think we've got a keeper, then,” Oshana said, then offered the crossbow to Hugh. “You're the marksman.”

“Bitchin',” he said back, taking the crossbow. “Time to loot!”

The company began scrounging the corpses for supplies. Hugh and Bastet entered the tower and began looking around. Mostly useless junk besides coin, and a small stash of jewelry that would fetch some more coin with traders. As Hugh pilfered a wardrobe, he opened the doors and gasped.

“Oh my shit yes!” he crowed, reaching in and pulling something out.

“What did you find?” Bastet called from the floor above.

“My rifle!” he said with glee, studying his Remington Whitetail for any damage, but it looked to be in good condition. Her steel boots clanged down the stairs as she walked to him.

“Lucky break, that,” she said, looking at the weapon. “So... it's like a crossbow?”

“What is?” Oshana asked from behind as she came in. She saw the rifle and narrowed her eyes. “Not magical or dwarven is it? Jasi will never leave you alone.”

“No, it's from my world,” he said. “Shoots small projectiles, but uses explosive black powder to propel it instead of just a string. So _way_ more powerful than the crossbow. Better range, accuracy, stopping power; she has a custom five-times optical scope and is loaded with anti-personnel hollow point rounds. Shop smart, shop S-Mart.” He looked to them with a smirk. “Ya got that?” Oshana just glowered at him while Bastet had an eyebrow raised.

“Groovy. The guy who nabbed this even got the extra ammo from Helgen. We're cookin' with gas here.”

“Better conserve, then,” Bastet said.

“Well duh! I'm not wasting my rounds on some chump thieves. That's what Uber Stitch is for,” he said, nodding to the crossbow strapped to his hip.

“You named it?” Oshana asked dryly.

“Course I did.”

“Let him have his fun,” Bastet said to her sister with a smirk. “You're going to be weighed down by all that, though,” she told Hugh.

“I got it covered,” he said, turned around, then shouted, “Hey, squire!”

After a brief silence Johanna called, “Did you just call me a squire?”

“No sher, Shitlock. I've got an ass-signment for you, c'm'over here!” Johanna entered, pouting at Hugh. He thrust the rifle and bow into her arms.

“Hold onto those, try not to hurt yourself,” he ordered.

“I'm not your pack mule, you know,” she grunted.

“You are until you get some battle scars, whelp,” Oshana told her.

“Hey, I thought we agreed I was the non-combat White Mage!”

“You're as much a mage as I am the Mane,” Bastet retorted, “Let's get going, no bellyaching.” But Johanna did bellyache. Under her breath, but she bellyached nevertheless. The company continued up the trail, climbing higher up the mountain. Soon the chill was a deep cold and pure white snow practically glowing in the sunlight made them squint.

“Can't much marksamize with all this light,” Hugh said. “Also, there's more bandits at the tomb.”

“I imagine so,” Oshana said. “Stay close to us in that case, use your sword. I don't want to be stuck by a fool's bolt by mistake.”

“Mistake?”

“Very funny.”

Bastet was giggling quietly, however, and received an icy glare from Oshana for it. At last they came to the crest of the ridge, and the old tomb climbed into the sky, its black stones and pillars jumping out against the pale snow. They heard voices from the barrow's courtyard. The ears of the two Khajiit moved about like satellite dishes, placing the location of the speakers.

“One to the left, three to the right,” Bastet announced. “Hugh, you take the one on the left. Oshana and I will take the other three.”

“Alright,” he said, drawing his sword. He turned to Johanna. “Get out of sight, Jo. We'll call you when it's done.” She nodded silently and took cover in an alcove against the tomb's foundation. When she was safe, Hugh followed the sisters up the steps and split up when they reached the top, going to the left. He saw his opponent, a man in heavy armor with a massive sword on his back. He had his back to Hugh, so he took the opportunity to sprint at him, his heart hammering as hard as his boots on the stones. Hugh's scale armor wasn't exactly quiet, so the man heard him, but too late still as Hugh was a fast runner. With a growl he thrust his sword forward into the stunned bandit's neck. He was running with such force that he slammed into the dead man, his sword going off-kilter and partially detaching the head from the body. Hugh stumbled as the corpse bounced off him, the head flopping to the side like a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tubeman. Hugh looked down at his chest and saw the dead man's blood all across the breast of his armor, oozing down to his belly but already beginning to congeal in the cold.

His stomach turned and he took in a breath. He turned from the corpse, just noticing the dying cries of Bastet's and Oshana's victims. He looked to them and saw Oshana plunge her sword into the chest of a fallen bandit, silencing him. He swallowed and approached the sisters. Bastet looked up at him, her brow creasing.

“Are you well, Hugh?” she asked him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said hoarsely, “It's not my blood.”

“I know it isn't,” she said back. He got her meaning.

“Oh, you know, just uh... not coming up with a sarcastic remark, as I do,” he smiled crookedly.

“Just don't get sick on us,” Oshana said, cleaning her blade of blood.

“But I can still get sick on Johanna, yeah?” he cracked, this time a legit smile coming across his lips.

“Gods help me!” Oshana grunted up at the sky. Bastet stifled a laugh and approached Hugh.

“I guess her time being picked on by the big mean Nords in Jorrvaskr made her a bit callous,” Bastet said.

“I can hear you!”

“Poor kid,” Hugh said, “They flick water on you or something?” Oshana shot him a scathing look, while Bastet gave him a punch in the shoulder, but she was snickering. She stepped by him.

“ _Johanna! All clear!_ ” she called. After a moment the teen emerged from behind a pillar, doing her best not to look at the corpses.

“Holy shit, Hugh!” she cried upon seeing his blood-stained armor.

“Chill, it's not my blood,” he said back.

“Well... it's gross, let me get it off,” she retorted, reaching into a satchel on her hip and pulling out a cloth.

“Nooo, no, Consuela no clean,” Hugh joked, raising his hands at Johanna. Johanna giggled.

“Consuela _do_ clean, you dope!” she said back, wiping the blood from his armor. “Wish I had polish, though.”

“Don't you mean lemon Pledge?”

“Shuddup.”

After Johanna had cleaned Hugh's armor, the company made for the entrance. They tried as quietly as they could to open the ancient door, but it creaked noisily into the antechamber. When they entered the chamber and closed the door behind them, it was quiet, only the wind whistling through holes in the ceiling, and the crackle of a campfire at the other end of the chamber.

“I doubt we're alone,” Bastet whispered.

“We're not,” Hugh told them. He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw the brown finish of a bow gleaming in the firelight.

The first thing he did was grab Johanna, then shouted, “ _Down!_ ” as he pulled Jo down with him. The sisters both ducked as the arrow whistled overhead, then another clipped a tuft of Oshana's ear, black hair spinning in the wind. The dark Khajiit hissed and threw a dagger in the direction of the arrow that had nearly struck her. It went home into the eye of the bandit that had fired, and she soundlessly fell to the ground.

“Fuck!” Hugh heard the other bandit cry, but Hugh quickly brought up his crossbow and nailed the bandit in the side of the head with a bolt. He too slumped into the wall quietly, blood squirting out of the wound. They looked around and listened, but they were alone.

“Oh God I'm never getting out of this,” Johanna whispered, terror on her face. Hugh turned to her and put his hands on his shoulders.

“Jo, you've gotta keep it together. We'll keep you safe, you don't have a thing to worry about. Look,” he said when she didn't meet his gaze, but she looked up at him, “You _are_ getting out of this. I'll personally make sure of it, capiche?” She nodded numbly and he rubbed her shoulders.

“Stick with us, kid, and we'll make a star out of you.” That got a smile out of her, which gladdened Hugh in turn. The two of them stood together and looked to the sisters.

“You're doing good, Johanna,” Oshana told her.

“Alright,” she said, taking deep breaths, “Just... go ahead and wallop me if I freak out at any point.”

“We won't need to do that,” Bastet assured her. “Let us press on.”

The company delved deeper into the crypt, wary of their footing over the cracked and dislodged stones, creeping vines, and scattered debris. All along the walls and in bowls candles burned and coals smoldered.

“Uh... did the bandits, like, spend hours lighting and maintaining the lights in this place?” Johanna asked.

“I just always assumed it was either magical crap that kept everything alight, or a Bethesda designer's choice to make it more atmospheric in the dungeons,” Hugh said back.

“Magic,” Oshana said back curtly. “Also, this isn't a dungeon.”

“Wait, it isn't?” Johanna said.

“Technically, no,” Hugh told her.

“Why in the god's names would you think this place is a dungeon?” Oshana demanded.

“In our world 'dungeon' is a generic term for any sort of subterranean or otherwise too spooky for you hellhole that exists solely to be pilfered by adventurers and raiders,” Hugh explained.

“So no different than Tamriel,” Bastet said.

“The dead should be left well enough alone,” Oshana growled, but Hugh could tell there was a touch of apprehension in her tone.

“Or maybe the dead should just stay dead and not be concerned with some old crap that they can't even use anymore,” Hugh shot back.

“You're testing me, whelp.”

“What can I say, I'm a testy guy.”

Bastet held up her hand suddenly, then pointed ahead. They had come to a flight of steps sloping down to an archway. Through the arch a brightly lit room housed a bandit with his back turned to them. They waited and watched as he approached a lever standing in the center of the room. He put down the torch he was holding then bent over and grasped the lever. With a grunt he pulled it back. That was when the sound of dozens of darts began spewing out of small holes in the walls surrounding him. He cried out and took cover, but had been struck by several.

“Oh God!” Johanna gasped, covering her mouth. The man tumbled to the ground and began convulsing violently. Foam seeped out of his gaping mouth, his eyes bulging practically out of their sockets. After a few moments of spasming and spewing foam all over his face, he twitched once more then fell limp. The company slowly descended the steps and came to the room. Across from them a gate was shut tight. A bulkhead above the gate was home to carved faces of bearded men, but where their mouths should have been were onyx slabs with animals carved into the stone. One head had fallen to the ground uncountable years ago, but the animal slab was still intact. An eagle, snake and a whale.

“What now?” Johanna asked.

“It's obvious,” Oshana said back, turning to the left and approaching three sets of pyramid-like statuettes. On the statuettes were the same animal slabs, a different one for each of the three sides of the triangular totems. Oshana turned them several times so the faces matched the slabs over the gate.

“Idiot,” she spat at the dead bandit when she was finished. Without hesitation she pushed the lever and the gate promptly slid upward. They stepped through, coming to a small chamber with a stone table across from them. Left on the table was an ancient wooden chest, the wood molded and termite-ridden, the hinges reduced to ugly brown rust. Johanna looked at the chest, then at the lock.

“Guess it's some for some lockpicking, eh?” she said, turning to the Khajiit. Bastet shook her head while Oshana just glowered at her. Behind them Hugh smirked.

“What?” Johanna asked, frowning. Oshana didn't respond. Instead she took an old war axe off of an inert draugr, approached the chest, then bashed the lock open. The old rusty thing smashed to smitheroons, she pushed the chest open and walked away. Johanna blinked, then looked at the chest.

“Uh, okay, thanks.” As she looked at the contents of the chest, Hugh came up behind her.

“What was that about?” she whispered to him.

“Kind of a stereotype to call Khajiit lockpicking thieves,” his said to her, trying not to snigger.

“Oh, shit!” she said. “I uh...”

“Don't think too much, they're just fucking with ya,” he interrupted, laughing slightly. She looked to them. The sisters were muttering to each other, their backs to her. They stopped to glance back at her, saw she was watching, then both turned back to each other and began snickering.

“Wow...” Johanna sighed as she turned back to the chest and studied a few decrepit trinkets that must've been valuable to its ancient owner, and no one else.

“Don't worry, Jo,” he said loudly, leaning in the Khajiit's direction. “You're the medic, which means you're basically the team's god. Soon enough, they'll come crawling back to you... presumably because they got their legs hacked off.”

“Could happen,” Bastet said with a shrug.

“But it won't,” Oshana said back. “We'd use the two of you as shields before that happened.”

“See, we're clearly invaluable assets to Team Snobby Cat,” Hugh assured Johanna with a pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway,” Johanna said smugly, then opened her hand to show the lot of them a glistening diamond.

“Oh!” Bastet breathed, looking at it wide-eyed.

“I made a good call with that chest, didn't I?” she said, smiling at each of them. “I take it that it'll fetch a good price.”

“More than a few dinners,” Oshana said with a chuckle. “Alright, fine, girl. A good call is a good call. But we've idled too long. We should move on.”

That sentiment agreed upon, the company descended a set of spiral stairs. At the bottom Johanna squealed when they were set upon by a small pack of skeevers, but the Khajiit didn't even have to draw their weapons. Their claws did the trick on the disgusting animals and they moved on without missing a beat. Johanna was still a bit more perturbed, though.

“Why does every fucking fantasy game have giant rats?” she hissed.

“Those were skeev-” began Oshana, but Johanna cut her off.

“I don't give a _fuck_ what they're called, they're rats!” the teenager snarled.

“Jesus, Johanna,” Hugh said. “Did rats kill your parents or something? Are you Ratgirl?”

“No, but when I was a little girl a rat had gotten in my room at night, scared the shit out of me. Been scared of rodents ever since,” she admitted. “The normal size ones are bad enough... but _those!_ ”

“Stow it!” Bastet snapped at her, making Johanna shrink. Even Hugh was a bit surprised to see that from Bastet. So far Oshana had been the short-tempered one.

They continued in silence for a few minutes. After a while spider webs started to become thicker on the walls, until almost all of the tomb was silver-white with the sticky trappings. Then they heard a voice.

“Hey! I can hear you! In here, help me, please! Damned spiders got me wrapped in in this shit!”

“Heh. This guy,” Hugh murmured.

“Who is he?” Bastet asked.

“Some thief. There'll be a spider in the next room, a big one.”

“No trouble,” Oshana said, drawing her sword. They came to a tall chamber adjacent to the corridor they had been trekking. Web coated almost all of the chamber, and at the end was a doorway thick with the stuff... but in that mass a Dunmer was wrapped in the web, struggling feebly against it.

“You there!” he shouted when he saw them. “Cut me down!” His eyes gazed upward and widened.

“Gods, it's coming again! Kill it! _Kill it!_ ” From the ceiling descended a somewhat sluggish frostbite spider, clear wounds on its hide and legs.

“Ugh, not much better,” Johanna said hoarsely from behind Hugh. The sisters charged in and felled the thing easily between the two of them. A leg dismembered by Oshana distracted the insect, allowing Bastet to impale its face with ease. It crumpled to ground with a choked squeal and lay still.

“Thank the gods!” the thief sighed in relief. “Now cut me down!”

“Keep still before I cut you by mistake,” Oshana snapped as she began hacking at the webs. Behind her and Bastet, Hugh nudged Johanna and asked for the rope she was carrying. When she gave it to him, he began making a lasso, confusing the girl. By the time she was done freeing the thief... er, what was his name... Arvel! By the time she freed Arvel, Hugh had the lasso ready.

“So, I guess you were with the welcome party outside the tomb,” Oshana said to him, staring daggers.

“Uh... _was!_ ” he said quickly. “Bunch of savages, you ask me. Damned Nords, even the scummiest of them are all uppity whenever they speak to a Dunmer. They left me here...” Oshana rolled her eyes and turned from him slightly, and that was when he made his move. Swiftly he about faced the company and started to bolt. Before Oshana could give chase, however, a rope flew by her and found itself wrapped around the dark elf.

“Wha-!” he shouted, but then was jerked back by the lasso in Hugh's grip. He fell to the ground with an “Oof!” Oshana pounced on him, turned him onto his stomach, then forced his arms behind his back.

“Ugh!” she grunted as Arvel struggled and spat obscenities at them. “Did you know he would do this?!” she hissed at Hugh as he snickered.

“Can't you tell?” Bastet said as she watched her sister with a small smile, arms folded over her chest.

“Oh, the both of you are just having so much fun with this, aren't you!” she snapped, binding Arvel's hands and feet with the rope.

“Who says dungeons can't be fun?” Hugh asked innocently.

“Urrgghh!”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

The sisters lead the way while Hugh carried a gagged Arvel over his shoulder, with the intent to return him to the people he had stolen the golden claw from. Not just for the reward, but because it'd be funny to see them kick the shit out of him.

Oshana came to a stop ahead of them, her ears twitching. But even Hugh could hear it: the rattling breath of the restless dead.

“Zombies?” whispered Johanna.

“With swords.”

“Awesome.” The sarcasm was thick with that statement.

Oshana signaled them to wait then crept to a corner ahead of them. She took a peak, then turned back to Bastet and raised her hand with three fingers up. Bastet nodded and poised herself. Oshana turned back, tensed, then slunk around the corner. Shortly after she disappeared they heard a blade cut into dried flesh and bone. The dead Nords swore in the dragon tongue in their guttural voices and Bastet next ran around the corner, Hugh (after dropping Arvel nonchalantly) close behind with his crossbow while Johanna watched apprehensively.

One draugr had fallen to Oshana's stealthy blade, and now she did the dance of death with a second one with a greatsword. Just as the third came upon her, Bastet rounded the corner with a cry and brought her blade upon it just before it struck her sister. Oshana overcame her opponent just as Bastet finished off hers. Hugh glanced at them, then at the walls surrounding them. More draugr had been laid 'to rest' in berths allotted into walls, but he spied one in full armor, smiled, then loosed a bolt at it. He struck it in the neck and... it didn't do anything. The sisters looked at the corpse, then Hugh, who had turned his smile upside down.

“Huh. Could've sworn...” He shrugged and retrieved the bolt.

“Not that clever after all,” Oshana sneered.

“Yeah? Ask me about a guy named Sam who may or may not challenge us to a drinking competition at any given tavern,” he said back, reloading the crossbow.

“No.” Then Oshana turned curtly away and made for a narrow arched corridor.

“ _Stop!_ ” Hugh bellowed at her. She halted and turned back to him.

“ _What?!_ ” she demanded, half aggravated, half alarmed. Hugh stepped next to her, picked up one of the draugr's dropped swords, then threw it into the corridor. On cue, three axe-shaped pendulums began swinging across the hall, creaking angrily.

“I may be a dumbass, but I'm not an idiot,” he said to her, then turned back to retrieve Arvel.

“I thought you were used to Nord tombs you damned fool,” Bastet hissed at her sister. Oshana returned a scathing look.

“I went into _one_ , with Farkas, and there were no traps like this. And don't act like you knew about this, you didn't stop me.” Bastet fumed silently, but they both knew one thing: they had to thank Hugh for dodging that tragedy.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Several draugr, a few traps, and one troll later, they came to a long ornate hall. On the walls carved murals depicted life as an ancient Nord worshiping the dragons. At the end of the hall a great stone door stood sentinel. Three rings, each with a different creatures carved into the rings. Half of the rings with obscured by the onyx stone the majority of the door was made of, but it was clear they turned and there was more to see beneath the black stone. At the center of the rings was a circle with three indents making a half-circle.

“So... Nord puzzles, hm?” Oshana sighed, looking at the door with an unimpressed expression. She turned to Hugh. “Give me the claw.” Arvel muttered something under his gags as Hugh reached into a satchel on his side and handed her the claw. She looked at the symbols on the backhand of the claw: from the bottom to the top three circles depicted an owl, a moth, and a bear. She pressed the rings on the door down, and they turned themselves to a different set of animal, until they matched the order on the claw. She inserted the fingers into the indents of the central dais and turned. The other rings spun to match a bear, bear, and a bear, before the door groaned as it began sinking to the ground.

“Have to appreciate their style, though,” Oshana said, waving her hand to get the eons-old dust out of her face.

“Wow, Skyrim really has made you especially bitter,” Bastet remarked, but actually seemed a bit troubled. Oshana sighed again.

“Don't listen to me, Sister. In fact, give me a scratch in the ear if I start acting like a Nord again.”

Bastet gave her a scratch in the ear.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Everyone's breath caught in their throats when they entered the next chamber. No, not a chamber: a cavern. Part natural, part man-made: the cave was enormous. Holes in the ceilings let in rays of golden light which fell upon green and gray ledges at the end of the cavern. Stairs climbed the small plateau, leading to a bowed wall. Carved into the stone were marks of the dragon language.

“Do you hear that?” Bastet asked. Hugh glanced at her, then knew what she was talking about. Oshana and Johanna look confused, however.

“Hear what?” Oshana asked. Bastet looked at her like she was crazy.

“The chanting? It's... coming from the wall,” she said, squinting at it. Oshana looked to the Earthlings and they both shrugged. Arvel groaned.

Bastet approached the wall, her gaze fixed on a particular symbol. It was... glowing, and some sort of light radiated from it like snow in the wind... only it was flowing directly at her.

“You don't see this?” she exclaimed.

“By the gods... it's true, isn't it?” Oshana whispered, the truth dawning on her.

Bastet was standing before the symbol now, the chanting...Nordic chanting... right in her head now. The symbol flared with blueish light, hissing with power like lighting flowing through water. Her head was pounding as a strange understanding of the word flowed in-

“ **FUS!** ” a deep voice bellowed in her head. She cried out, clutching her head as a sharp pain lanced into the center of her brain.

“Bastet?!” Oshana said, coming to her side as the silver-gray Khajiit clutched her head. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh... yes, I think so...” she said, rubbing her forehead.

“What was that?”

“I... I think-” They were cut off when the sharp cracking of stone filled the cavern. They spun around to see a sarcophagus lid had exploded upward. From within, a heavily armored draugr rose, gurgling lowly. Its eye sockets glowed red like coals beneath a full helmet with long brown horns rising from the top. Its armor creaked as it turned its head to them... to Bastet in particular.

“Urrch, Dovahkiin...” it uttered, placing its arms on the side of its sarcophagus so it could climb out.

Suddenly, from behind it, Hugh rose with an old mace in his head. With teeth bared he silently raised the cudgel and let it fall to the monster's head. What he didn't expect was the arm of the draugr to raise with unnatural speed and catch his wrist.

“Oh fu-” he began, but that quickly turned into a scream as the draugr turned its hand. A sick snap was audible from beneath Hugh's flesh as the bone was twisted.

Bastet sprung at the draugr, hissing deep in her throat, mouth open wide and showing her lion-like teeth. She drew her sword and thrust it at the draugr. It snarled and let go of Hugh when the blade pierced exposed flesh left open by the disrepaired armor. Hugh stumbled back, groaning in pain as he cradle his wrist. Johanna came to him immediately with a scroll in her hand.

“Hold still, this should help,” she said, opening the roll of paper.

The draugr grabbed Bastet's blade with a gauntleted hand and shoved it back at her. She stumbled and the beast took the opportunity to launch itself from its former resting place, a huge decorative sword in hand. It was tarnished by age, but not rusted by any means. It was a black, long, tombstone-like blade, etched in silver with glyphs of the dragon tongue. The thing was almost the full height of the draugr itself, which was easily seven feet tall. Oshana came to her sister's aid, taking a swing at its leg, but it barely flinched even when the sword struck the side of a relatively unprotected knee. It groaned in annoyance and lazily swung its sword at her, but was still surprisingly swift. Oshana barely hopped back in time as the tip of the sword cut the breast of her armor. She hissed as the metal broke flesh and blood began seeping from the opening.

Enraged further, Bastet roared, bearing her sword in both hands, and brought it down on the draugr's sword-wrist. The gauntlet protected its hand, but the shock of the blow made it drop the sword. Bastet raised her blade again, aiming for the neck, but the draugr quickly turned on her and opened its mouth.

“ **FUS RO DAH!** ” its guttural voice thundered like a stormy sky, and a wave of energy erupted into Bastet, sending her flying. She slammed into Word Wall, her plate armor shaking her body to the core, knocking the breath from her. But she hadn't been wearing her helmet and her head had cracked against the stone. A galaxy of stars exploded in her vision, crimson and golden, while the noise all around her became muffled. She vaguely sensed falling to the ground face-first. A deep burning sensation covering the back of her head... along with the feeling of soaked fur. She forced herself onto her hands and knees and tried to look up. The stars started to disappear and the visions of two blurry warriors exchanging blows slowly came into focus.

Oshana. The draugr. It had reclaimed its sword. Behind them Johanna used a healing scroll on Hugh's wrist. Then she saw her sword laying before her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. Everything became clearer. She swiped at her blade, lurched to her feet, took in another breath, then charged the draugr as it was distracted by her light-footed sister. She drew her sword back over her shoulder, the business end pointed at the back of the beast's neck, and lunged. But the walking corpse seemed to have sharper senses than its' lesser brethren. It turned so her blade struck its shoulder, a sharp screech escaping the colliding metals as the blade was knocked off-center and ground against the rusty armor, sparks jumping in the air. Bastet did her best to maneuver back, then ducked so her shoulder would catch the blow of the monster's incoming blade. She ground her teeth and growled when it knocked a dent into the steel, which caved into her flesh. Oshana threw a dagger at its neck instead, and the blade met home. The draugr wasn't concerned with having to breath, or whether it would bleed to death, but a blow is a blow, and it felt it. Bastet brought up her sword again, but flipped it around and held it at the blade so the hilt became the business end. She swung and clocked the draugr in the helmet, making it curse in the dragon speech.

“ _Aggh!_ ” Hugh screamed, coming from nowhere with the mace raised over his head again. The wounded draugr was too slow this time, and his mace met the beast's kneecap. Its leg buckled and it fell to its wounded knee. Oshana struck the blade from its hand, leaving it unarmed as well as immobile

“ _Ruth hi!_ ” it cried. “ _Un dovah drog fen neh kreh wah hi!_ ” it snarled at Hugh and Oshana. Then it turned its hateful gaze to Bastet. _“Orin hi, Dovahkiin kaaz!_ ”

“Go and join your masters in the beyond and stay there,” Bastet sneered back at it. She crossed her sword arm over her chest, swung, and lopped off the draugr's head. It fell to the ground with a clang, the horns of the helmet keeping the head from rolling. The body fell limply at her feet and she kicked it, spitting.

Oshana sighed in relief, lowering her sword.

“Jesus help me...” Johanna whimpered from behind its' sarcophagus.

“Well...” Hugh said hoarsely, pale in the face, but otherwise fine, “Sorry I botched the first attempt, but-”

“You knew _damned well_ what was here and didn't say a word on it!” Bastet shouted at him. Hugh's throat tightened. “Just the other night you were ranting about how real this all is to you, and now suddenly when you're in actual danger it's a _game_?! You _are_ an idiot, Hugh.” He averted his gaze, unable to come up with a response.

“Bastet, your head,” Oshana said to her worriedly. She remembered then. Felt the blood in her hair. “Sit,” Oshana ordered, making Bastet take a seat on the edge of the sarcophagus. She gave one venomous look to Hugh, but he knew this was all on him, so he said nothing. Oshana turned to Johanna next.

“A healing salve. Now.” Johanna tried to swallow against a dry throat as she rummaged in the satchel containing potions and other alchemical compounds. She handed Oshana one jar of a dark substance, which she opened and applied to the back of Bastet's head. She winced upon the first dabs, but soon the burning soothed to a faint throb. The salve cleaned the wound and allowed some skin to regrow, but not much else.

When Oshana did what she could she closed the jar and said, “The surface wound is fine for now, but you should have a healer check for other damages. You skull had to have cracked, so you may have a concussion. If you feel drowsy try not to fall asleep.”

“Heh, not the first time I've been hit on the head, Sister,” Bastet returned with an assuring smile “I've ridden this durzog before.” Oshana chuckled back.

“Well fine, head expert. Sorry to say you lost a chunk of your mane, going to look rather foolish with a bald spot like that.”

“Don't remind me.” Bastet stood, then looked into the sarcophagus. There it was: the Dragonstone.

“Ah! Here we are!” she said, reaching in and raising the tablet. “Now let's get the fuck out of this damned crypt.”

“You won't get an argument from me,” Oshana agreed heartily. Then she stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” Bastet asked.

“One moment,” Oshana said back gruffly. She stepped down from the monument and came to Arvel, whom glared up at her. But then she saw the look in her eyes.

“Mm! _Mmmmm!_ ” Then she raised her boot and brought it down on his neck. Hugh, Johanna, and even Bastet flinched a little. He _mmm'ed_ no more.

She turned back to them and said, “ _Now_ we can leave.”

As the company made their way to a back passage leading out of the cavern, Oshana looked to Huey.

“Hugh, your wrist?” she asked flatly.

“Fine, don't worry about me.”

“Well, I know it still hurts. The scroll Johanna used was temporary. It's basically just raw magic holding your wrist together. It'll wear off soon, so you should let me splint it when we get out of here.”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmured shortly, and they left it at that.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

A while later, after leaving the crypt through an old cave that came out the side of the mountain near Riverwood, Hugh got his arm splinted (just as it started hurting like a bitch again), and they were on their mounts, bound for Whiterun once more. The sisters rode ahead, speaking quietly to each other while Hugh and Johanna rode behind.

“...so...” Johanna began, Hugh glancing at her. “Well, _I_ thought you were pretty cool looking, even when you got wrecked by that zombie.”

“Jo, don't try and make me feel better, they were right. I acted like a twat all through that tomb... not just near the end.”

“Well, you said it's your coping-”

“I know what I said. That should have been a joke, but then I started to believe it myself. No. I... ugh, hold on.” Hugh tapped the sides of Jerma and he trotted ahead until he was riding in-step with the sisters. The two of them looked to him.

"Listen, I... I'm sorry about what I did back there. I was an idiot not to let you know about that draugr."

"Quite," Oshana agreed curtly. "Hugh, you could have gotten one of us killed with that stunt. If you think you know something, tell us, even if it turns out to be untrue."

"Yeah... yeah, I know. I won't pull something like that again. And feel free to actually hit me next time."

"Saying it won't happen again and then telling us to hit you if it happens again doesn't inspire confidence," Bastet remarked, but was smiling slightly.

"Yeah well, I guess today we've learned that not only am I a dumbass, and an idiot, but I'm also a moron."

“ _You_ learned it, you mean,” Oshana shot back.

“Apparently.”

“Good. Now get behind us again, whelp.” Hugh sighed, swallowed his pride, and did as he was told. He caught a glimpse of Oshana smirking. Honestly he preferred that instead of the cold indifference from earlier.

_That wasn't me putting my tail between my legs, it was... a tactical social move,_ he joked with himself as Jerma fell in step back with Arya.

“There's a big man,” Johanna teased, not trying to hide the words from the Khajiit.

“Yeah, okay, you earned the privilege of belittling me,” he said forlornly.

“Maybe... next time... um... maybe... huh...”

“Man, I gave you a chance and you _blew it!_ ” he exclaimed back at her.

“Oh shut up, you dick!”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Whiterun was in view again, almost glowing against the high noon sun, the miles of grass waving in the breezes that ran across the plains. Shadows of clouds moved lazily across the fields and over the city. Four horses and their riders all walked side-by-side in the open space. Two Khajiit sisters in between a Canadian man and an American girl, watching the city together.

“So, Hugh... anything you want to _tell us_?” Bastet asked.

“Yeah, go yiff yourself.”

“Wow, tough talk coming from a little man that was whimpering at us only a few minutes ago,” Oshana scoffed.

“Yeah, we'll see how tough you are against the dragon.”

“Gods... tell me you're joking.”

“No, actually. As soon as we give that stupid rock to Farengar... uh... the dark elf chick—fuck if I'll remember everyone's names, even with the hundreds of hours I've put in the game-”

“Irileth,” Bastet said flatly.

“Yeah her. She'll come in an-” Hugh was cut off when something bellowed in the distance. The horses whinnied skittishly and began fidgeting. The riders all put calming hands on their necks, but they themselves looked to sky nervously.

“Hugh...?” Bastet said quietly.

“Present.”

“Is this a case when you're wrong?”

Another spine-tingling roar permeated the tranquil air of the plains.

“I believe so, toots.”

An angry roar filled the air this time, closer, and then they saw the dragon gliding overhead. Its scales the color of corroded copper glistened dully in the sun as it preyed over the city outskirts. Screams could be heard from the city, and that's when it spoke.

“ **YOL TOOR SHUL!** ” A gout of flames engulfed the trading stalls and a stable. They could see bodies of horses and men aflame as they fled the destruction haphazardly. Guards scrambled with their bows, but the dragon flew far over head, hurling fireballs from its maw.

“GO!” Bastet bellowed, whipping the reins of her horse and spurring it into a sprint.

Her sister and friends followed Bastet to the second step towards her destiny.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

Dragon Attack

 

The screeching of women and children grated against the company's ears. Mothers carried and dragged their children to and fro, desperately looking for cover. But there was none. Even places that hadn't caught afire would soon be consumed by it.

“ **Alduin lost daal, joor! Rok fen kuz hin lahney, ruz rok fen kuz hin sil, ahrk voth niin rok fen heim yun lein!** ” The dragon's voice boomed like a million drums. The exact meaning of the words were lost, but one thing was for sure: it intended to destroy everything and everyone in Whiterun.

Upon the walls men and women of the Whiterun guard began loading trebuchets and balistae, but the dragon opened its maw, white teeth and black tongue glistening with saliva. It spoke, and bolts of flame struck the siege equipment. It barely noticed the small arrows that bounced off its scaly hide.

Below Bastet, Oshana, Hugh and Johanna had dismounted their horses and watched helplessly from the ground.

“How do we bring down this monster?!” Oshana shouted, eyes wide.

“Arrows aren't any good... so let's try something else...” Hugh said then turned to Johanna. “Jo, give me my rifle!” She wordlessly undid the strap around her shoulders and handed him the firearm. He shouldered it and spied through the scope. The dragon's neck was right in the optic, but he would need to hit the head to really get its attention. But the dragon decided to thrust across the sky at that moment.

“Shit!” Hugh hissed. “I need a headshot, but I can't hit it if it's moving like that!”

“Take cover and be patient,” Oshana said.

“People are dying, we can't be patient!” Bastet said back.

“We don't have a choice if we're going to try and get to our level!” Oshana argued. All their thoughts raced as chaos ensued around them.

Hugh jumped when a hand clamped on his shoulder. He turned to see Bastet looking at him.

“Hugh, tell me you know its name.” He opened his mouth, but the words didn't come. “Hugh!”

“Y-yeah, he does, but-”

“For the gods' sake... no, for these _people's_ sake you need to reach down in there and _remember!_ ” Bastet cried. Hugh ground his teeth, looking down at the ground. He _did_ know it's name, God dammit! N... N... No, not N... M... M... Me... Mir... MIR. Miiiiiiir...

“ **FUS...!** ”

“DOWN!” Oshana screamed. Hugh didn't even have time to think. He was tackled to the ground.

“ **RO DAH!** ” What sounded like an airliner crashing into a mountain deafened Hugh as something armored but furry covered him. Then the two of them were thrown again, this time by pure kinetic force, dragged over the ground and into a stone wall. A leather boot struck his scalp and dirt filled his eyes and nose. The person beside him moaned in pain, and he raised his head, trying to see through blurred vision and stinging eyes, his nostrils burning. He realized he was bleeding from the mouth and nose, but Oshana was in worse shape. An arm was bent awkwardly and limp, and one side of her face was bloody and missing tufts of fur, her eye beginning to swell up with black and blue flesh.

Hugh got onto his hands and knees, using one hand to wipe his eyes. It hardly helped, but hardly would have to do. He crawled to her and grabbed her shoulder.

“Oshana!” he choked, then spit out blood to the side. She muttered something. He thought it was slur at first, but as she woke up a bit more he realized she was cursing in the Khajiit tongue.

Then she said to Hugh, “His... gods damned name, Hugh!” Then it clicked.

Mirmulnir. Mirmulnir!

“Bastet! _It's Mirmulnir!_ ”

“ **MIRMULNIR!** ” The voice cracked in the air like a clap of thunder, and the very earth shook beneath them. Oshana gasped, raising her head and looking to her left with her good eye. Hugh followed her gaze and saw Bastet standing upon a boulder, a shield on her arm and sword in hand. Around her was complete destruction. The boulder had withstood the dragon's Thu'um, but an entire house had not. Its scattered remains smoldered and burned around Bastet, wrapping her in tendrils of smoke and embers. And the dragon stared at her, perched upon a gate.

“Fos pahlok skildir hi wah zalk dii faan, kaaz?” he rumbled, his yellow eyes fixated on her. Her response was to bring her shield to her chest, slam it with the flat of her sword, and hiss ferally. Mirmulnir accepted the challenge with an earsplitting roar.

He spread his wings, reared up, spoke, then belched flame at Bastet. Oshana screamed in horror as her sister disappeared in the inferno. Heat blasted on their faces, and somewhere Hugh heard Johanna scream, too. Mirmulnir closed his maw, smoke trickling from his nostrils and between his teeth, his eyes aglow with arrogance. But that was quickly washed away when the smoke began to clear. Bastet knelt, her shield up and covering her bowed head. The air around her rippled and smoked. Her armor was singed, and the edges of her shield softly glowed red. She opened her eyes and breathed. Smoke filled lungs, but she did not cough. Only breathed it out as naturally as one breathes fresh mountain air. She climbed to her feet, Mirmulnir watching with a baffled expression.

“Dovahkiin...” the dragon uttered.

“As it seems,” she answered, then threw the shield aside. “Face me on my level! Or use your wings like a coward!” An older and wiser dragon would probably laugh at the challenge, but this lesser dragon was like a brash adolescent in comparison, and he responded so. He hissed, his black tongue slipping between ivory jaws. He dismounted the gate, then lunged at Bastet. Mustering all her strength, she rolled forward, forcing her plate armor to cooperate. She tumbled right beneath the beast, below his chest, then with a cry thrust her sword with all her might. The soot stained blade penetrated the dragon's hide and found its way to his heart. He roared in anguish and reared up, but Bastet kept her grip firm, and the blade slipped free, letting Mirmulnir's blood spurt from the wound. It bathed the singed ground below, hissing as it smothered coals and fire. The dragon staggered, growling gutturally. He stopped breathing, then his eyes bulged. The blood stopped running. Instead, smoke billowed out as if from a steam engine. His scales began to redden, embers and flakes of ash rising into the wind, mingling with the ones from the burning township. Mirmulnir looked at his own body as it began to disintegrate before him. Soon, cracks appeared in his hide, and light began to rush out like water from a broken damn. It flowed into Bastet, who herself was wide eyed, looking down at her own body as it absorbed the alien energy of her foe.

Mirmulnir raised his head to the sky and cried a dying cry as his flesh made way to bone. His cry cracked feebly as he was stripped bare, then his bones sagged nonchalantly to the ground, leaving nothing but his skeleton and a mist of smoke. The light warbled around Bastet, clinging to her body for a few moments more before finally subsiding inside her. She cried out, hunched and brought a hand to her forehead as her mind split with pain. Then something rose in her. Unlike bile from her belly, it was pure and raw power from her soul, rushing up her chest, through her throat, and out of her mouth.

“ **FUS!** ” she shouted involuntarily, a blast of energy escaping her lips into the bones, rattling them backwards. She gasped and clutched her chest, but all her hands met was a damned cuirass. Her breath heaved as her body and head burned like the ground around her, alien words and memories swimming in her head. Words of the Dovahzul became clear to her. Not all, but some.

“Bastet...” she heard her sister croak from behind. Bastet looked behind herself. Hugh helped Oshana to a sitting position as she wiped blood from her face.

“Gods, Oshana,” Bastet said hoarsely, walking somewhat dizzily to the dark-haired Khajiit. She stopped, then looked to her left. She had heard moaning, and sobbing. Bastet gasped when she saw Johanna, stuck on her belly beneath a pile of rubble.

“Christ!” Hugh cried when he saw where Bastet was looking. He tried to run, but hissed when his ankle gave way. Despite that, he regained his footing and limped to Johanna as Bastet bounded to the girl. Oshana even tried to stand to help, but a wave of dizziness made her stumble back again. Hugh and Bastet reached Johanna and began pulling the pieces of lumber off of her. When she was free Bastet wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her up. Bastet took one of Johanna's arms around her shoulders, and Hugh took another. They brought the barely conscious girl over to Oshana and laid her down as gently as they could. Johanna had a few cuts on her face, and a tear on her arm that bled, but all things considered, she was in the best shape despite the rubble. As Hugh checked Johanna for any deeper wounds, Bastet knelt by Oshana's side.

“Stay still,” she said softly, taking one of Johanna's satchels off the girl. She pulled a cloth and a small hide canteen with a runny pale salve. She applied it to the cloth and began cleaning the cuts and bruises on Oshana's face.

“Ugh... I...” Johanna uttered, the Khajiit looking at her.

“Are you well, Johanna?” Oshana asked. Hugh helped her, but Johanna forced herself to sit up.

“I am...” she said, quaking and pale. “I'm fucked up, but I'm fine...”

“I could stand to get a bit fucked up myself,” Hugh joked weakly. “What did you drink that did the trick so quick?” Oshana actually laughed at that.

“Maybe a bit of powdered moon sugar from one of the Khajiit traders got up her nose,” Oshana said, laughing still. Bastet had to laugh too. Even Hugh. Johanna laughed slightly, but only because _they_ were laughing.

“Sorry but... I don't get it...” she admitted.

“Moon Sugar is basically weed for cat people,” Hugh told her. “And just sweet cocaine to everyone else. So keep it away from dieting movie producers.” That got Johanna to snicker and Hugh joined in.

Behind them a thunder of foot steps approached. They looked to see a large group of guards, led by Irileth, all gather around the dragon. They murmured among themselves, staring in awe. Beyond them more people came from shelter and began to douse the flames with water. Mages used frost magic to combat the greater fires. Irileth and a handful of guards all stopped before the company.

“I can't believe it... you're... Dragonborn!” one guard proclaimed.

“Something tells me I'm going to be getting a lot of that,” Bastet retorted gruffly, turning back to Oshana and checking her arm. Not completely broken, thank the gods, but banged up pretty bad.

“You should be more grateful, _cat_ ,” another guard sneered. Hugh recognized him as the gate guard they had confronted this morning. “Fur-licker like you gains the greatest honor a _Nord_ could ever receive.”

“You've got some big balls, Gavris,” Irileth said darkly. “Maybe too big for your own good. Perhaps I should tear them off and feed them to the hounds.” Gavris made no response save for burning red with humiliation and turning his gaze away.

“Well, so much for that Dragonstone business,” Irileth huffed. “Looks like a dragon dies like anything else of flesh and bone: being skewered with a sword.”

“You don't understand, ma'am,” another soldier cut in. “Any man or woman like you or I can stick a dragon, but the _Dragonborn_... well, you saw for yourself! She devoured its very soul... and used the _Thu'um_!”

“Dragonborn or not,” Irileth interjected icily, “the fact of the matter is the dragon is dead, and that's all I care to know. Next time we'll be prepared if another one of those things tries to attack our city.

“Now,” she continued, turning to one of her men, “I want-” but she was cut off by a rumbling overhead, in a sky free of clouds. The rumble built up to an explosion of thunder that shook the earth, and was followed by a choir of voices proclaiming one word.

“ **Do-Vah-Kiin**!” A final clap of thunder punctuated the call, before the air was finally still again. Everyone was silent for a few moments.

“Well,” one guard spoke up, “Guess that settles it.”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

A guard outside Dragonsreach pushed the great wooden doors open for the foursome as they approached the palace. Oshana had bandages across half her face and her arm hung in a sling. Healers had tended to Hugh's wounds from being 'nicked' by that dragon's shout—he surely would have been dead if not for Oshana; plus the wrist injury sustained from Bleak Falls. Bastet had been checked on for minor burns (after being completely encompassed in flames, which had caused all the healers to stare at her, dumbfounded), plus the bash to the head from that draugr's shout in the tomb. Johanna had had some deep bruises in her muscle tissue, but all that required was time and a painkilling potion. She was lucky considering parts of a house had almost buried her. All in all, besides some minor trauma, they were doing well now.

“Hot damn...” Johanna breathed as she stared up. Dragonsreach was nigh a cathedral. The support beams and arches had been carved meticulously and finished with sheen varnish which glinted in the light of the torches, candles, and the great fire pit in the center of the hall. The tables were long and could easily seat a hundred people more or less, laden with true silverware and candles. The room smelt of smoky oak and pine, and the faint aroma of meats, breads, and pastries could be found creeping from the kitchen. Across from the entrance sat the jarl's throne, made of light pine and painted with a clear finish to give the wood an illusionary glow. The seat and back was padded with felt dyed violet, red, and embroidered with gold lace. The _real_ Dragonsreach felt a little more royal, but with the same nordic motif.

The company didn't even have to go all the way to the throne, as they saw after climbing to first short flight of stairs from the doors. Jarl Balgruuf and the rest of his court came striding up to them, wide-eyed and a bit pale.

“By the gods! We saw it from here!” Balgruuf exclaimed to Bastet. “You took its very soul. Like the legends of old.”

“And the Greybeards called you!” the Jarl's brother said. He paused and gave Bastet an appraising look. “You... do know who-”

“Yes, I know who the Greybeards are...” Bastet sighed. Hrongar looked a little annoyed at Bastet's shortness, but Proventus spoke before he could make a rebuttal.

“Bastet...” the Imperial said, “what you just did... you may have very well saved the city. That dragon was no ordinary beast, it was a flying siege machine, laying waste to our only advantages over it.”

“Dragons may be beasts, Proventus, but they're not stupid,” Balgruuf told his adviser. “They were smart enough to trick us into worshiping them and being in their service, and they nearly defeated the rebellion our ancestors rose to.”

“But doesn't the return of the dragons mark the beginning of the End Times?” Hrongar brought up. “Think about it. The prophecy foretold that when the Sons of Skyrim spilled one another's blood, after the time of Oblivion, the dragons would return and bring about our end!”

“Easy, Hrongar, please,” Proventus returned. “You're not seriously going to suggest we start believing such ridiculous superstitions? The dragons may be dangerous, but I hardly think they could destroy all of Tamriel, let alone Nirn.”

“Gods above, have we learned nothing since the Oblivion Crisis?!” Hrongar exclaimed. “And I suppose you're suggesting old Uriel Septim was a superstitious old man, even though he foresaw his own death and the rise of Mehrunes Dagon.”

“I didn't say that,” Proventus huffed.

“My brother has a point, Proventus,” Balgruuf spoke up. “How many times have we ignored prophecies and reaped the consequences? If you don't believe the fact that dragons returning is not an indication of the End Times, what about our friend here?” He gestured to Bastet. “She is Dragonborn! Don't you think it's a little suspect that just when dragons are returning, an ancient legend returns for the first time in centuries?”

“I... yes, that is a good point,” Proventus admitted. “This is just happening a little fast, is all.”

“That's what we all say when the apocalypse begins,” Oshana spoke up.

“Well said!” Hrongar praised. Balgruuf turned back to Bastet.

“I know as a Khajiit you're rather indifferent to Nord traditions, but I need to say this: you must answer the summons of the Greybeards. You are Dragonborn, Bastet. And the Greybeards know everything about the dragon tongue, and the Way of the Voice. I believe you have a destiny to fulfill... and so do you, I can see.” Bastet looked down at the floor, brow furrowed.

“Yes, I can see that, Jarl Balgruuf,” she replied. “I hadn't intended on ignoring the summons.” A smile crept up on her face. “I was just thinking of a way to get my pompous mage sister away from that college up north to help us.”

“Ah!” Balgruuf said and laughed. “Well, perhaps I can have Proventus fetch some writing materials so you can write a letter to her. I suppose I could lend a raven to the Dragonborn.”

“It would be appreciated,” Bastet said back.

“I'll go and fetch what we need, then,” Proventus said before turning and striding off.

“As for the rest of you,” Balgruuf said to the company, “You look in need of rest and a good meal. You're welcome to stay in Dragonsreach until you're ready to travel to High Hrothgar.”

“That sounds nice!” Johanna said.

“But the sound of a choir of shouting mountain sages calling my sister is a little urgent,” Oshana put in. “And it's not even mid-day yet. We could make it to Ivarstead before dark if we make haste.” Bastet shrugged.

“I'd rather not keep them waiting myself,” she agreed. The Khajiit looked at Hugh and Johanna.

“Pfft,” Hugh said back, waving his hand at them. “As long as the horse does all the work you won't get an argument from me.”

“Oh... sure, that works, too,” Johanna murmured.

“Suit yourselves,” Balgruuf said. “But the offer still stands whenever you want to take it. You've done more than a service to Whiterun and my people, we're indebted to you, and we won't forget it.”

“I don't consider saving people's lives to be a matter of debt,” Bastet responded. “Just something you should do.”

“Again, well said!” Hrongar said with a stamp of his foot.

“Then just consider it a show of appreciation,” the Jarl said. “If you're going out on a journey, you should all have something for it. Come.” The jarl motioned them to follow him. He lead them to the western wing of the palace: Farengar's work area. Rows of book shelves covered all the walls of the room, stacked from top to bottom with old scriptures, spell tomes, scrolls, encyclopedias and more. Desks and seats were arranged in the center in the shape of a rectangle. Open books, papers, journals, recipe notebooks, quills, ink, candles and a human skull or two were scattered across the surfaces. At the end of the room an alchemy lab bubbled and steamed away, and an arcane enchanter hummed not unlike a power transformer.

“Bloody fool probably didn't even notice what was happening...” the Jarl grumbled as he looked around for the absent wizard. “ _Farengar!_ ” he bellowed.

“One moment!” a voice called from one of the back rooms, his private office. They could hear papers shuffling, something drop to the floor, and a chair screech against the floorboards as the wizard pushed himself from his seat. He strode out of the office, adjusting his hood as he did so.

“Yes, did you need something, my Jarl?” he asked, then saw Bastet. “Ah! Back from the Barrow I see. And with the Dragonstone I hope.”

“You can have it, but just for intellectual pursuits at this point,” Bastet said as Hugh handed Farengar the Dragonstone.

“What other pursuits would there be?” the wizard asked.

“What she's trying to say is she figured out how to kill the dragons,” the Jarl said with a sardonic expression, his arms folded over his chest.

“You did?!” he exclaimed, dropping the stone onto a desk and looking at her eagerly. “How?”

“I cut them open and rip out their very souls,” she said with a toothy grin. The wizard blinked.

“R... really?”

“Yes, actually,” the Jarl affirmed.

“And... when did you figure this out?” Farengar asked.

“Oh, about ten minutes ago,” Bastet said.

“Is this a game?” Farengar demanded, losing his patience.

“It isn't you damned fool. You missed the whole thing. A dragon attacked the city!”

“It... I...” he was at a loss. “I can explain! I used a muffle spell... well, a reverse muffle spell on my hearing.” He looked to Balgruuf. “Your bra... the children, my Jarl, can be a bit noisy at times, so I use a spell to help me concentrate on my work.” The Jarl sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with the ball of his hand.

“Well, I'll fill you in on the details later, but for now I'd like you to find a few enchanted items for our friends here. They helped save the city and I'd like them to have some enchanted items to help them on their journeys.”

“Of course, sire. Let's see...” he murmured, turning away and looking through some display cases. “Well, I have some jewelry that can help them resist the weather, always useful for long travels. What else, errrm... ah! I notice the young man in the scale armor sports himself an archer! I have a set of gloves that will help steady your aim! Obviously the sisters should have something for their sword arms... er...” He muttered a few other things, opening cases and sifting through them until he had an armful of necklaces and rings, and one pair of leather gloves.

“There you are!” he chirped, spreading them all out before the company. “Some rings to help your sword arms, ladies. The gloves that will steady your aim... and for you, young lady,” he pushed a ring to Johanna, “Makes those scrolls and potions you use more effective, both for yourself and others. Plus, a few more rings that'll keep you warm out in that cold air.”

“Too. Cool,” Johanna said, trying on her rings.

“Oh, sorry,” Farengar said, plucking one of the rings from a surprised Johanna. “Could have sworn I grabbed a Ring of Warming.”

“Uh, it _was_ one, I was just making a figure of speech,” Johanna replied.

“Oh! Ha! My mistake,” Farengar chuckled, handing the ring back to her.

“Wish I had one of these for the past few months,” Oshana said of her warming ring. “We're grateful for this.”

“The gratitude is all ours,” Balgruuf said back. “Now let's get that letter written and you can be on your way.”

Bastet took a few moments to write to Jasi before Proventus sealed the letter and headed to the back porch to release a raven with it. The Jarl walked them to the doors outside. When they were upon the stone steps in the sun, they saw Irileth climbing up to meet them.

“My Jarl,” she said to Balgruuf, “Most of the fires are out. We have healers treating the wounded and rescue parties freeing people from the rubble. Most of our siege equipment was destroyed by the dragon, so our defenses are severely limited.”

“Then I'm afraid we'll have to push our funds to rebuilding them,” the Jarl said with a sigh. “I want the guard on high alert at all times... and thank you, Irileth. You did well today.”

“I only do my duty, sire,” she said, clenching a fist and crossing an arm over her chest. Balgruuf turned back to Bastet's group.

“Watch the skies, my friends. After the call of the Greybeards, I'm sure the dragons will be keeping out an eye for the Dragonborn. Be hasty in your travels.”

“We will,” Bastet replied with a nod. She and the jarl shook hands. Bastet turned and lead the company away down the steps, Balgruuf and Irileth watching them go.

“I'm almost tempted to make her stay. Scare off any other dragons,” Irileth said.

“That would be handy. But there's something else at work here... and just as the gods choose their champions to defend the very life of Tamriel, it's clear she's needed elsewhere.”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Their horses' hooves clopped over the cobblestone of the bridge. White waters rushed below them, spraying up a damp mist that clung to their bodies. They followed a sign pointing in the direction of Ivarstead, the road hugging the base of the mountains that towered overhead. The company's horses were loaded with some extra supplies in the event of a sudden storm forcing them to stop in the wilderness. Saddlebags of food, tents and fur sleeping bags, cooking ware, and other adventuring essentials. Most of that stuff stayed with Hugh's and Johanna's horses, while the sisters' horses were lightly packed and ready for mounted combat if the need arose.

Oshana had discarded her sling and tenderly flexed her arm, grimacing as she did so.

“You sure you should be doing that?” Johanna asked her. Oshana cast the girl a disdainful look.

“Where does the whelp get off telling me how to treat my wounds?”

“The whelp is the medic of the group, and the whelp thinks you should stop being a stubborn twat.” Bastet burst out laughing at that. Oshana looked at Johanna with wild anger.

“You've got nerve, girl!” she spat.

“And a point,” Johanna retorted. Then she unstrapped a walking stick from the side of Arya and poked Oshana's hurt arm, causing her to yelp and withdraw. “See?”

“Of course it's going to hurt if you hit it!”

“ _Exactly!_ If something hurts you _let it alone!_ Now put the God damn cast back on!”

“Sister, do it, please, she's right,” Bastet told Oshana after her laughter had subsided. Oshana sighed and re-slung her arm.

“Wow, Jo, you got testy there,” Hugh remarked. “Am I sensing character development?” Jo snorted with a smirk.

“I survived zombies and a dragon attack, so I'm feeling pretty developed right now.”

“Good to hear,” Bastet said. “Just don't let it go to your head. When I was your age I was attacked by some savage tribal Pahmar, and I managed to best him. I felt invincible. Then Father and Jasi had to save me from the rest of the tribe. It was a bloody rescue and I nearly lost an arm to infection.”

“Yeesh,” Johanna muttered. “What's a Pahmar?”

“Ah!” Oshana said. “Yes, we should explain the breeds to her, so she's not completely shocked when she meets Jasi.”

“Ooh, this is gonna be interesting,” Hugh said, leaning forward on Jerma to watch the three ladies.

“Glad to see you're aware, one less stupid look to slap off,” Oshana remarked.

“Eh?” said Johanna.

“I'll give you the short version,” Bastet began. “We Khajiit have different forms, which are determined by the phases of the moons.”

“Seriously?”

“Quite,” Oshana said. “Take myself and Bastet for example. We are called Cathay, and Jasi is Cathay-raht, along with our mother. She is about two heads taller than us, broader, heavier. Our father is a Pahmar. You would probably mistake him for a tiger at first glance.”

“Cool!” Johanna proclaimed. “Great, now I wanna meet him.” Bastet chuckled.

“Who knows, maybe one day if our journey to bring you home takes us all over Tamriel, we could take you to visit our home.”

“Ugh, would we have to explain their situation to the rest of our family?” Oshana grunted.

“Doubt it,” Hugh said. “I would think we'd come up with good cover stories by then. The whole Bruma thing should suffice.”

“I would change the placement, actually,” Bastet said. “We have family who run a caravan in Cyrodiil. Have been for years, so they would know a thing or two about Bruma. Perhaps one of the other mountain villages near Bruma, like Meadswell. They never go there.”

“Meadswell. Sounds like a plan,” Hugh said. “So, I've noticed Nords think I'm an Imperial, and vice-versa. What would you two assume I am right off the bat?”

“Hmph,” Oshana chuckled with a smirk.

She opened her mouth, but was cut off by Hugh, “'Man!' It's not gonna take long to figure you out, Oshana, you're the generic gruff warrior. You've gotta come up with less predictable material.”

“You think I'm some sort of jester?” she snapped.

“No, but you're a joke, that's for sure.” Bastet was hitching with hardly stifled laughter. All Johanna was capable of was a nervous smile while Oshana returned a look to Hugh that could melt ebony.

“And yet here you are clinging to two warriors because you're clearly a milk-drinker who can't fend for himself.”

“Touche, but at least I've got charisma.”

“Oh please,” Johanna spoke up. “You mean your smart-ass attitude is original _here_. But all I see is a little internet troll spouting dank memes.”

“And I'm gonna savor every goddamn minute of being original while not actually being original. Who knows, maybe I'll grab a guitar and start playing rock songs and say I wrote them... actually, that wouldn't be a bad way to make money. Tamriel's first street rocker. I'd be doing gigs in the Imperial Palace in no time.”

“See? There, no need to make us help you get home, you've just laid out your life plan in Tamriel,” Oshana said.

“Hey, I can't sing or play guitar,” Johanna said.

“You've got a teacher right here,” Hugh replied, tapping his chest with a fist.

“No seriously, my singing voice is like a screech owl and I have the finger coordination of a toddler. I'd bring down your act.”

“Fine. Roadie, then.”

“Hmph! I was thinking manager, actually.”

“You can manage my stuff, like a roadie does.”

“I'm not being your damn roadie!”

“Why not? You're already a squire.”

“ _White Mage!_ ”

“That carries our crap, too. Listen, when I actually get a guitar, I'll let you and Arya carry it, then you'll officially be our little company's roadie. And being a roadie isn't bad! You ever played _Brutal Legend_?”

“I... yeah...”

“Eddie Riggs was a roadie and he was b'dass! Swinging a giant axe around like it was a wiffle bat, lightin' dudes on fire with guitar lightning! Don't forget tearin' sweet solos and literally melting guys' faces off!”

“But I just said I _can't_ play guitar, let alone shred like a beast.”

“Oh yeah, that's right... guess I'll have to do all that stuff. Never mind, I'll be the roadie.”

“Oh you're such a shit!”

The two of them bickered for a while more before Oshana told them to shut up. The trip to Ivarstead took a few hours and was fairly uneventful. They thought they had had a fight on their hands when a pack of wolves peered at them from the trees off the road, but the animals seemed to think better of it when Bastet and Oshana drew their swords, slinking further into the trees. The closer the company came to the Throat of the World, to more massive they realized it truly was. Perhaps the growing dark of dusk made it seem more imposing. Hugh wondered if it was only a little smaller than Everest. It was wreathed in mist, a silent monument of Tamriel's creation. Jagged and stark, much like the rest of Skyrim, even the forests and plains.

They crossed a ford in a stream that was fed by a roaring waterfall that rushed down the side of a stony crag. The road zig-zagged up the cliffs, somewhat treacherous from a recent snowfall that made the stones moist and slippery. The nordic horses soldiered on, nonplussed by the conditions, and soon they were upon the crest of the cliff. Ivarstead came into view. More hay-thatched houses lined beside one another. The land was wide, most of it used for the animals and crops of farms. The roads thinned, weaving between the houses. The river that rushed to the falls split the town somewhat, a few houses sat on the other side. A small wooden bridge was provided for the residents on the other side, but the ornate stone bridge that lead to the 7,000 Steps dominated the site of the quaint town.

Upon the stone of the bridge's parapets were chiseled small murals of dragons, ancient Nord heroes, and the Greybeards themselves. At the center of each parapet on either side Jurgen Windcaller's face was etched into the stone.

“Nice tourist trap, better take a selfie,” Hugh murmured with a smirk as they passed the bridge. Ahead of them a pair of guards patrolled, casting suspicious glances at Bastet and Oshana. The Khajiit seemed to ignore them, but Hugh had a feeling they knew they were being appraised. But when they passed the guards they said nothing. So the foursome made for the stable, conveniently sitting next to Vilemyr Inn. They paid for the keeping of their animals and what they carried, then went into the inn. The sun was almost set now, a light orange beacon that stained the horizon tangerine as the sky above grew darker blue, while the wispy clouds shined the same orange against the sleepy sun's fading light. Johanna decided to stay outside for a bit and watch the sunset, so Oshana, Hugh and Bastet entered the inn.

Some locals were already partaking in Happy Hour by the bar, others sitting around the fire pit in the center of the main room.

“Evening, travelers!” the barkeep called. “Make yourselves at home, we'll have someone take your order!” Bastet looked to her sister and Hugh.

“You two take a seat, I'm going to book our rooms so I can change out of this armor.”

“Alright, we'll be over there,” Oshana replied, jerking her head at a table in the corner. Bastet headed for the bar while Oshana and Hugh took their seats. Hugh undid his scale cuirass fairly easily and let it sit under the table.

“So, our seer,” Oshana began when they were settled, her eyes on Bastet's back as she spoke with the innkeeper. “After we meet these Greybeards, what next?”

“Well,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “I was thinking about this on our trip. See, the solution to defeating Alduin is sort of simple. We just need three special words of power to weaken him, leave him open to a killing blow.”

“Truly?” she asked. “I don't suppose I should start swinging my sword at you so you remember them like you did that dragon's name.”

“I'm pretty sure that was a one off. All I know for sure is that the first word is 'joor,' which means 'mortal.'”

“Hmm, that makes sense, I suppose. How do you kill an immortal? Force mortality upon it.”

“Yeah, but only Bastet can use the words to their full potential. The ancient nords that created them couldn't actually kill Alduin, not being dragonborn.”

“How on Nirn _did_ Alduin return after his 'defeat?' Where did he return _from?_ ”

“They used an Elder Scroll to cast Alduin basically forward in time. To Tamriel, he's been gone for thousands of years. But to him? He's been gone for a few moments, maybe a few hours. Not long, neither by immortal or mortal standards. Point is, the Elder Scroll is the key. We need to bring it to where they used it on Alduin and hear them use the words... Bastet specifically.”

“And prey tell where this Scroll is.”

“Deep underground in a dwarven city, Blackreach. Up north, by Winterhold.”

“Dammit, Hugh, why didn't you tell us sooner?!” Oshana hissed. “We could have had Jasi meet us there and get the whole thing over with sooner!” Hugh returned a pissed off look.

“Hey, I'm sorry, but things have been a touch bat-shit bananas for the past two days. Plus we were almost Cramer'ed by a dragon only a few hours ago, so I didn't have time to draw up a play-time schedule until after we left Dragonsreach. How were we going explain to her—over a freaking note written around the Jarl and everyone else-”

“Alright, alright, you've made your point!” Oshana snapped.

“Lady, you need a drink,” Hugh huffed at her. “Get that bug out of your ass.” He waved over a server as she came near.

“Sorry, sir, meant to get to you sooner!” the tavern wench said, “Whaddaya have?”

“Some ale,” he said.

“Have any brandy?” Oshana asked.

“Cyrodiilic or High Rock brandy?”

“Cyrodiilic.”

“I'll be back in a moment.” When the wench went to fetch their order, Oshana turned back to Hugh.

“You'll have to forgive me,” she said with a sigh, leaning back in her chair. “I was overjoyed to see Bastet again this morning, after so long... but then this talk of other universes and my sister being dragonborn...” she trailed off. Hugh waved his hand at her.

“You're venting, I get it.” The woman returned with their drinks and they drank in silence for a short while. Soon Johanna came in and took a seat with them.

“What'd I miss?” she asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Hugh said. “I just gave a brief summary of our game plan to kill Alduin.”

“Okay cool... and... who is Alduin again?”

“Some arrogant mook who's slightly more powerful than your average dragon, so naturally he has a god-tier god complex. Doesn't help that he's the first child of Tamriel's chief god, Akatosh.”

“Oh, wow. So what, he's like the anti-Christ or something?”

“Now that I think of it... sorta, yeah. He brings dead dragons back to life, and they're helping him take over the world again.”

“All the more reason to get that scroll as soon as possible,” Oshana said, taking a long drink.

“There's more to it, Oshana. But we should wait for Bastet to get here... probably should discuss it with Jasi, for that matter, so it's just as well that she's coming here. Let's just relax for now, worry about it later.”

“Hmm...” Oshana growled lowly but begrudgingly behind her cup. Bastet soon returned in a tunic, trousers and boots and took a seat with them, untying her hair out of three pony-tails so it spilled behind her head. Sheen gray-brown like her fur, but darker.

“We have two rooms between us,” she told them. She nodded at one door at the other end of the room. “Hugh and Johanna, that one is yours. Oshana and I will be across from you.”

“Whoa, hey, I'm staying with him?” Johanna asked, jerking her thumb at Hugh. He just glanced at her with a raised brow. “What if I need to change or something. Or _he_ needs to.”

“You know, Jo,” Hugh started, “you could just say when the time comes, 'Hey, Hugh, I need a few minutes of privacy, please wait outside!' I also know how to knock, with my knuckles, which are on my fists, so I won't just barge in while you're swapping clothes.”

“Wow, she's like an Imperial,” Oshana said wistfully, looking at Johanna with her chin resting on her palm. “Is sharing a room with a man that alien to you?”

“She's an American teenager that watches too much anime or something, so awkwardness is in her DNA,” Hugh stated.

“It's not that!” Johanna snapped.

“Au contraire, mademoiselle, I think it's exactly that,” Hugh returned.

“Gods above, if it's going to be that much of a hassle then _I_ will bunk with Hugh,” Oshana grunted.

“Ew, I don't wanna be anywhere near you while asleep, you're mean and probably a cannibal,” Hugh sneered. In response Oshana gave him a toothy grin and slid her tongue across her top teeth. “Or she'll just hit on me in weird ways.”

“Grow up and bunk with Hugh, Johanna,” Bastet ordered. “Oshana and I haven't seen each other in little over a year, so we need some time for ourselves.”

“Okay, fine!” Johanna accepted, raising her hands submissively. The wench that had served Hugh and Oshana swung by again.

“You two want anything? Supper for the whole lot?” she asked. The group nodded to each other.

“I'll have wine,” Bastet said, “and beef stew.”

“And for you, girl?” the wench asked Johanna.

“Coke... or Pepsi, whatever.”

“I... beg pardon?” the wench asked, perplexed. Johanna gaped when she realized what she had said. Beside her Hugh folded his arms on the table and buried his face in them, shaking his head back and forth. Johanna flushed and smiled awkwardly at the wench.

“D'uh, sorry, I'm from... uh... south. I mean I'll have... water, just water.” The wench nodded slowly, her brows raised as she regarded Johanna as if she had mudcrabs crawling out of her ears.

“And to eat?”

“Soup, beef. Beef soup. Er, stew.” All the while Hugh was wheezing with laughter into his arms.

“And you, Imperial?” the wench said to him loudly.

“Sa- s- same!”

“Horker loaf with butter and garlic,” Oshana said simply before the wench even said anything to her.

“A-actually I'll... I'll have that... instead...” Hugh amended between fits of chortling. The wench rolled her eyes. When she left, Hugh sucked in a breath and raised his head. He wiped tears off a red face and was snorting uncontrollably. The Khajiit regarded him dryly.

“I think I would've been better off left under that rubble,” Johanna grumbled, resting her cheek on a propped up fist.

“Ha... ah, don't be so dramatic,” Hugh said breathlessly and patted Johanna on the shoulder.

“In before 'hurr hurr besides we need a good laugh once in a while,'” Johanna shot back.

“Oh please, that's too obvious. Better to leave that as an... unspoken truth,” he explained sagely.

“And I suppose we'll keep _you_ around for occasional nuggets of truth such as that,” Oshana remarked.

“Not hard to look at, either,” Bastet added, smiling at Hugh. Oshana shifted a look of barely hidden stupefaction to her sister. Hugh grinned back at Bastet, then leaned to Oshana and nudged her.

“See, that's the _normal_ way to hit on someone,” he told her. Johanna just looked between the three of them, sharing Oshana's expression.

“Forgive me, I just always trusted in my sister's character judgment,” Oshana said. “And today that trust has been eternally shattered.”

“A small price to pay,” Bastet said with a shrug. The wench returned with a tray of cups, bowls and plates. Before Hugh was set a cup of wine and a plate of the horker loaf. It steamed and sizzled with hot butter oozing over the top. Minced garlic was spread across the meat along a side of baked potatoes also covered in butter and parsley.

“Jesus, this makes swordfish look like Kraft macaroni and cheese,” Hugh whispered as he admired the dish.

“No horkers where you live?” Bastet asked Hugh as she dug a spoon into her stew.

“We have walruses, which are basically the same but with vertical tusks. But I've never had walrus, so I still wouldn't know.” He cut his knife into a corner of the loaf, used his fork to spread some butter and hunks of garlic on the bite, speared it, then popped it into his mouth. It was to die for. The meat itself was as if it was as if a piece of tender, fatty bacon that had sat in seawater brine for a month, but was even more heavenly when combined with the butter and garlic. It was singlehandedly the richest—most downright decadent thing Hugh had ever bitten into. And he had bitten into freshly butchered wild boar after a hunt, so he knew. And he doubted this piece of horker was fresh, so far from the coast, so he could only imagine how rich a fresh loaf was.

After finally getting a meal in front of them, the group all realized how hungry they were. Between the raid on Bleak Falls Barrow, the battle with the dragon, and traveling for the rest of the day deep in thought after those ordeals: food had been the last thing on their minds. They greedily scarfed down their meals (Hugh ended up giving Johanna a small hunk of his horker when he caught her watching his meal with more than a touch of curiosity) and washed it all down with their drinks. When the plates were empty and their cups dangerously close to drained, they each leaned back in their chairs, satisfied.

“Ahh... I needed that...” Oshana said, picking a piece of flesh from her teeth.

“Yes, you've been moodier than usual,” noted Bastet, not unkindly. “But it can't be blamed... this entire day...” she trailed off. They all nodded in silent agreement, staring down at their empty plates, zoning out. They were roused when the wench came to clear their plates and ask if they wanted more to drink. The sisters and Hugh all asked for refills, Johanna asking for a porter this time around. When the wench walked away to fetch their drinks, Hugh turned to Johanna.

“Taking advantage of the nonexistent age restriction, huh?” She smirked and shrugged.

“Age what?”

“What's this now?” Bastet asked.

“American kids can't drink until they're twenty-one,” Hugh told them.

“Huh...” was all Oshana said.

“Did you even sneak-drink back home? 'Cause I don't wanna wipe up your puke tonight,” Hugh said to Jo.

“Believe it or not, yeah.”

“Right, I'm supposed to think the girl that doesn't watch _South Park_ because it's 'rude' drinks when mommy and daddy aren't looking, sure.”

“I did too! And it's not like I ever got drunk.”

“Pssh, amateur. When I was your age, me and my crew were sneaking off to Toronto, breaking into metal concerts and bumming beers off of dudes. Some of the best moments of my life was getting plastered with my buddies and moshing to _Megadeth_ and _Anthrax_.” Hugh grinned then began to laugh.

“After all the years doing that, the one time I actually got myself mangled in an out-of-control mosh and my parents finally figured out what the hell I was doing, I was already two weeks from the legal age.”

“Sheesh, how did you get 'mangled?'” Johanna asked.

“Stumbled and fell under a dude twice my size. His big-ass boot comes down flat on my face before some other fellow headbangers got me back up on my feet. Broke my nose, got a black eye, had to get some stitches in a couple of places. And because I was under age the cops at the hospital called mine and my friend's folks.”

“Heh, tough break,” she said with a grin.

“Sort of. They were sure pissed and hardly spoke to me for like two weeks, but I was at that age where I couldn't really be punished.”

“What? No community service or something?”

“Eh, I lost a few hundred bucks for sneaking into the concert, but that didn't really mean much. Just meant I couldn't buy some stuff I had been saving up for.”

“Strange how your world sounds both wild and strict at one time,” Bastet remarked.

“Eh, the wildness is really just an illusion,” Hugh explained. “As annoying as bureaucracy is, most of modern society relies on it so the world doesn't turn into an anarchistic nightmare or a fascist fuckfest. Countries like my Canada, Jo's United States, or those of the European Union aren't perfect by any means, but the alternatives make the shittiest neighborhoods in the cities look like a resort.”

“A... resort? Resort means something else in your world?” Oshana said with a brow raised and an ear half-flat.

“Earth English has this tendency to use words on different things at once,” Johanna said. “Resort is like a... fancy hotel built precisely for tourists.”

“And they're just castrated representations of the countries they're built in,” Hugh added.

“It sounds interesting,” Bastet said as she stretched back in her chair with her hands held in the air, letting her claws flash dully for a moment before sheathing them again as she unstretched. “But I'm retiring for the night, I'm exhausted.” She stood.

“You look it now that we've had a chance to really recuperate,” Oshana noted with a small smirk.

“Don't remind me,” Bastet said back. The wench was returning as she stretched a bit more.

“Oh, going in for the night?” she asked. “Take your drink if you like.”

“Yes, please,” Bastet said, taking the cup of wine. “Rest well,” she said to the group, who returned good nights. Hugh took his drink from the server and got to his feet.

“I'm gonna hang outside for a while, have a smoke,” he said. He turned and made for the door, sipping from his cup.

Hugh stepped into the frigid night air, shifting the fur coat on his shoulders and buttoning it up. He stepped over to the rail of the inn's porch and placed his cup on the banister. Reaching into a pocket, he extracted the pack of Camel smokes. He had about seven left, but a fresh pack of Cyrodiilic tobacco and rolling papers for when his old cigarettes ran out. He popped a cigarette between his lips, lit up, and took a good long drag and held it in for a while. The stress and aching joints flowed away, his head lost in a fog of nicotine bliss. Hugh let the smoke out slowly and leaned on the banister, staring across at the buildings and beyond to distant mountains.

Above the sky was black, whilst the horizon was a dark blue. The stars glistened like diamonds, more colorful than that of Earth's. A dim nebula not much different from the Milky Way hovered like a crystalline cloud as Masser and Secunda began their trek across the sky. Ivarstead was quiet. A dog barked down the road, and loud laughter and conversation came muffled through the cracks of the inn's door, but that was about it for noise. Crickets chirped and a loon called mournfully from the lake beyond the town.

Hugh sighed. The cool air rattled some congestion in his nostrils, so he snorted it down into his mouth and hocked it up into the bushes below.

“Eggh...” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat.

“Hey, you,” the voice of a nordly nord barked at him. He glanced down at the street and saw a pair of guards approach him.

“Yeah?” he asked, wondering what the hell they wanted.

“You come in with those cats?” one asked, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword.

“No, I'm allergic,” he retorted, looking away and taking another drag.

“Very funny. Hey! Look at me!” the guard snapped.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Hugh shot back, glaring down at them, then did his best Arnold Schwarzenegger impression, “' _Keep your nose clean while you're here, outsider! Don't go fiddling with any locks! Put the lime in the coconut and mix it all up!_ Don't worry about me and my friends, we're staying here for the night and'll gone tomorrow.” He scoffed and looked away again. The guard that had been hassling him slowly stepped up onto the porch. Hugh pretended not to notice him, but when the guard came right to his side he grabbed Hugh by the shoulder and forced him to look face to helmeted face.

“Or... I can go in there right now, round up your cats and run you out of town. Unless, of course, you can 'persuade' me otherwise. I'd gladly accept an 'apology' for disrespecting one of Skyrim's protectors.” Hugh sighed through his nostrils and reached into his pocket. He grabbed some quarters and placed them in the guard's hand.

“Not official currency, but they should fetch a good price,” Hugh said. The guard took his helmet off, his face screwed in concentration as he studied the coin in the light of the inn's lantern light.

“Where's... 'Canada?'” he asked, his moustached lips pulled back in a confused sneer.

“Little place between Cyrodiil and High Rock, fancy, like to make their own money. But silver's silver, am I ri-” Hugh was cut off when the guard tossed the coins in Hugh's face. They bounced off his nose, lips and forehead and clattered to the wooden floor, most of them disappearing through the cracks.

“I'm not interested in your games, you con artist!” the guard nearly shouted.

“Well, I'm all con and no artist, if you of all people can see through Her Majesty's coinage,” Hugh said with a roll of his eyes.

“Why you!”

“Alright, for fuck's sake!” Hugh yelled back. He stuffed his hand into another pocket and shoved some septims into the guard's hand. “Here, buy yourself a personality.” Hugh scoffed again and turned away, taking a big puff of nicotine as his blood pressure rose.

“Plus interest for you attitude.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hugh grunted through gritted teeth, then pressed the hot end of his cigarette into the guard's forehead. He bellowed in rage, drew his sword, then ran Hugh through.

That thought was funny until the stabbing part. So Hugh swallowed his pride and gave the smelly Nord some more coins.

“Smart man. Enjoy your stay in Ivarstead,” he said smugly. Hugh bit the inside of his cheek as the guard returned to his partner and they both strode off, chuckling and splitting the coin.

“Spend it on some soap,” Hugh grumbled, letting the aroma of his burning cigarette burn away the stench of that guy. After that shit-show the nicotine hardly improved his mood. He stomped on his cigarette and kicked it into the bushes, then entered the inn again. It was alive with laughter, music, babble, and the smell of meat and booze. He looked around and didn't see Oshana or Johanna, so he figured they were in bed. He went to his and Johanna's door and knocked.

“Decent!” Johanna called. He entered and locked the door behind him. Johanna was in a shirt and loose pants, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her iPhone in her hands.

“I can't believe this thing just charges off of magic in the air!” she said, her face illuminated by its cool blue glow.

“Pretty cray-cray,” Hugh agreed, stepping over to his bed. He tossed off his coat, kicked off his boots, then fell into the furs. He got his own phone out and looked at the home screen. He watched for a few moments, but didn't hit any buttons.

“You hoping against hope you'll get a text or something out of nowhere?” Johanna asked somberly.

“Yeah...” he admitted, deciding to just set the alarm and leave it on the nightstand. He laid back with an arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“Still feel surreal to you?”

“No, feels real, now. Screwed up, but real. Getting ninja'd by that draugr was the final nail in the this-is-bullshit coffin. Made the dragon attack all the more crazy.”

“I lost the feeling when you and the sisters killed those guys at that old watchtower.”

“Yeah, that was something. I'm glad I didn't hurl after killing actual people like that. I prefer to spaz in the privacy of my head.” Johanna chuckled ruefully at that.

“Frankly,” Hugh continued, “I'm surprised I held it together like I did. Thought for sure on our way up that I'd freak and make them do all the fighting.”

“Well, I _did_ let you guys do all the fighting, but I didn't freak... much.”

“Yeah, you were solid. You're gonna be the best White Mage Tamriel's ever seen.”

“In before 'because white mages aren't a thing in Tamriel.'”

“See? We're already getting to know each other like peas in a pod! This little adventure will be a cinch,” Hugh said, grabbing his covers and pulling them over himself.

“I sure hope so...” Johanna murmured, going under her covers. Hugh blew out the candle on his stand, as did Johanna. Once again Hugh focused on the sounds of the patrons outside the door to lull him into a somewhat easy sleep.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

“Not that I think he's a bad person, but do you really believe Hugh can be trusted?” Oshana asked Bastet. The two of them were under their beds' furs, staring up at the ceiling, their eyes seeing clearly in the dark.

“Trusted? Yes. But correct about everything he 'knows' about? Probably not. He's said it himself to not believe everything he says as true.”

“That's the issue, then. After we meet these Greybeards and Jasi joins us, he says we need to travel far north into an old dwarven city, which I don't need to remind you how dangerous that is.”

“We are in a prophecy to save our land from a demigod dragon, Oshana, I think this Blackreach will just be another obstacle on a long road of deadly encounters.”

“Which doesn't comfort me. This isn't just another adventure like when we were younger, the stakes are higher. Not just for our lives, but... everyone's!” Oshana clenched a fist around her blanket. “Everyone we've ever known and loved.” Bastet didn't answer. There was a long silence between them.

“Well...” Bastet spoke after a while, with a small smile, “Khajiit usually retreat when it seems all is lost. This is a time when Khajiit make like foolish men and charge into certain death.”

“Hm,” Oshana chuckled softly. “Oshana is prepared to die, as is Bastet. Jasi will be the wiser Khajiit and teleport Bastet and Oshana away from a suicide rush.” The two laughed together.

“No, to Oblivion with sacrifice. We fight as we did in our adventuring days. It's just more crypts to raid like the Aylied ruins of Cyrodiil and the chasms of Anequina. Occasionally there may be a dragon waiting outside.”

“Ah, sounds simple enough when put like that. All things considered, that dragon in Whiterun fell rather easily.”

“He was arrogant. I calling him a coward was a gambit on my part to trick him into fighting me on my level. Not all dragons will be as naive... probably not with me, at any rate.”

“Mm, already slipping comfortably into the confidence of being Dragonborn,” Oshana teased. Bastet laughed lightly.

“Apparently I'm a master of the ancient Nord arts, now. That should be fun to flaunt around in Skyrim.”

“Hahaha! It should indeed!”

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Everybody's Got A Mountain To Climb

 

“Don't you worry, lass, she'll be waiting for you all well when you climb back down.”

Johanna stroked Arya's muzzle as she and the rest of the company retrieved some supplies for the climb up the 7,000 Steps. The stable owner that stood beside Johanna gave the mare a pat on the neck. The old man turned around to face Bastet.

“Don't take this the wrong way, but it's kinda funny to see Khajiits making the pilgrimage. Honestly, anyone who ain't of the race of Man.”

“Well, not just Men believe in Talos,” Bastet answered. It was a half-truth. She didn't feel like telling him she was summoned as the Dragonborn (like he'd believe her anyway), but she believed in all the Nine.

“Pah. And that's where I lose it with those Stormcloaks. Defendin' Skyrim from the Thalmor is good and all, but they forget we're all in this together. So they scoff at anyone who ain't a Nord wanting to be among the ranks of their army. Oh sure, Ulfric has a few token Imperials and Elves and Argonians to flaunt about, but the rest of 'em...” the man shook his head. “You'd probably be as true a Daughter of Skyrim and a follower of Mighty Talos as any of 'em.”

“Eh, I didn't make any mention of the war, but I see your point,” Bastet said back evenly. Some people looked for any flimsy excuse to start up with politics and religion.

“I think we're ready,” Oshana called from the other end of the stable to Bastet's relief. She could tell the old man was barely started.

“Well,” Bastet said, reaching into her coin purse and removing a hefty amount of septims, “This should cover the week.”

“Week? Yer _stayin'_ with the Greybeards?” the man asked, brow furrowed as he appraised Bastet.

“The Dragonborn has been summoned, and the dragons have returned, so we want to know what that means for _all_ of us. I'm hoping somehow we can help,” Bastet said back.

“Heh, so yer not just adventurers or pilgrims, yer bloody heroes! Or ya think ya are.”

“I guess that's one way to look at it.”

“Well, be careful up there. Bears and trolls lurk on the path sometimes, and the wind has been known to knock people down ledges. Though it's nice and clear today,” he looked out of the stable to the sky. Not a single cloud splotched the blue yonder, nor did the wind rustle a single branch of the trees.

“We'll be careful. I like to think my climbing of the Jerrals to get into Skyim was good practice.”

“Good practice as any, I suppose. Don't exert yerself when you get way up high, thin air will make yer head spin.”

“Noted.” Bastet started to walk away. “Thank you,” she said to him. He started to follow.

“Sure ya don't need some extra furs?”

“I _am_ an extra fur.”

“Heh. True, but I always hear the caraveneers complain about the cold even though they're head to tow in as much bear fur as their own.”

Bastet tried not to sigh and tell him to go away as he followed her out the stable. Her sister and friends were all ahead of her, appearing to be snickering to one another. “Yes, I don't understand it either,” Bastet answered. “The cold isn't as bad as others make it out to be.”

“Guess some provincials aren't as cut out for this as others.”

“Guess so.”

“Ya got rope?”

“Plenty.” Bastet slowly increased her speed with each step, hoping to out stride the old man.

“Well, anyway,” he sighed, “I better get back. Good luck to ya.”

“Thank you, sir.”

At last he turned around and headed back. Bastet let out a huff and caught up with the group.

“Gonna have some drinks with him when we get back down?” Hugh said to her with a smirk.

“Stow it.”

“Something about Bastet just attracts old men who can't take a hint,” Oshana stated, sharing the same look with Hugh. Bastet scowled.

“That for real?” Johanna asked.

“Yes, actually,” Oshana told them. “We've even used it to our advantage a few times.”

“Do you really have to share this?” Bastet snapped.

“I can't picture Bastet as a seductress,” Hugh commented, making Oshana laugh. “Then again it's just old men apparently, which isn't hard.” Oshana laughed harder at that.

Bastet's cool blue eyes turned to Hugh. “Just you wait. First ledge we climb I'm sending you back down.”

“You better watch your tail, then.”

“Khajiit have a saying,” Oshana said, “'Hands are lost more often than tails.'”

“I believe it.”

“You should,” Bastet stated. A sudden wind flanked them, making them draw their fur coats tight and shiver.

“Figures that starts up as soon as we start climbing,” Johanna muttered.

“We should cover our faces now if that's how it's going to be,” Bastet said as she brought a thick mask over her nose. The rest of the company followed suit, raising their hoods against the frigid breeze.

They stopped before the first of the 7,000 steps, dark granite weathered by ages of rain, snow, sun, and boots.

“Our journey is hopeless, sister. Time to turn back,” Oshana said dejectedly.

“Wow, even for a sarcastic remark that was uncharacteristically sad,” Hugh said.

“You try and tell me with a straight face you aren't thinking the same.”

Hugh turned to Oshana. “I am not thinking the same thing,” he said from under his mask.

“Nice try, but I heard the smile in your voice. Octaves raise ever so slightly through a grin.”

“Well shit, you set me up.”

“How could I not?”

“Alright you two,” Bastet spoke up. “Save your breath, you'll need it.” With that Bastet took the first step. The others were close behind.

On the fourth step Bastet's foot gave out over some black ice. She held her arms out to maintain balance but couldn't save herself from banging her knee on the stone. She cursed in Khajiiti and stood straight again, taking care to put her foot on a dry stone.

“All fear the mighty Dragonborn,” Oshana said wistfully.

“You're going to fear my foot up your ass,” Bastet hissed back over her shoulder.

They moved on, further up the side of the mountain, deeper into the high altitude chill. The Autumn-like landscape of Ivarstead faded into a gray and white world of snow and stones. Wind steadily became stronger and sharper. Had they not been wearing masks it would have cut into their flesh by now. The company bowed their heads slightly, letting their hoods take some of the wind. It didn't stop their eyes from watering, their tears chilling soon as they dribbled from their eyes. Jo and Hugh could wipe away the tears, but the sisters were a little worse for wear as theirs soaked into the fur beneath their eyes then froze over. They ended up looking like someone had smeared Crisco under their eyes.

“Many ask why Khajiit detest the cold and wet,” Oshana stated. She scraped the thin scabs of ice in her fur. “This is usually answer enough.”

“Ahhh, the sweet-smelling wood of Rimmen beckons me, Oshana,” Bastet sighed drearily.

“I had told you to turn back half an hour ago. It's not too late.”

The jokes made, they trudged on, each step upon the 7,000 becoming more miserable than the last. Mountain goats skirted by them, bleating stupidly as their hooves clopped against stone and crusty snow. As they climbed higher, ice became a more prevalent hazard. Slips were common, and knees grew more bruised and tender as the steps climbed higher and higher. Thankfully a reprieve came into view in the form of a crevice. The path lead through two high ledges in the side of the mountain. They could tell someone had blasted the rock apart ages ago to allow the steps to go on.

“Let's catch our breath here,” Bastet said, quite breathless indeed as steam wafted through her mask. They stepped out of the wind. It was an improvement, but the cold persisted nonetheless. They found a group of rocks formed in a circle, presumably put here by Nords of old to rest themselves and those who came after them. Fires had been built here, but not recently. There was some black charcoal to be seen between the rocky seats, but it was mostly covered by snow.

Instead of sitting Oshana went to work tearing apart a dead pine tree that wilted sadly in the shadow of the crevice. Bastet kicked away the ice and old charcoal remains for Oshana's twigs. She hastily stacked the small pieces. Hugh took a knee (a good one) beside Oshana when she finished stacking them, then flicked his lighter under the wood.

“Ah, now _that's_ nice. Good substitute for magic” Oshana stated.

“Picked it up from an Exxon before getting to my cabin,” Hugh said. “They're easy as pie, and not all come in plastic, so there's no excuse your oh-so-wonderful and magical Tamriel can't have invented a goddamn lighter by now.”

The twigs crackled as they started to burn. Oshana leaned in and blew softly, helping the flames eat away at the wood. After a few bigger twigs and some decent sized sticks, a small fire was popping at their feet. It didn't offer too much heat, but they were still grateful for the small amount of warmth the tiny blaze offered. After a few minutes they could feel their toes and fingers again, and their faces were a little more flush (Hugh and Jo's anyway). The sisters rubbed their ears and hovered their tails beside the fire.

After a few minutes in silence Bastet looked up at Hugh. “Hugh, did something happen last night?”

He looked up at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“This morning I overheard some guards bragging about shaking you down. I can only guess it was you they were talking about when they said 'the cat-lover.'”

“Well, in that case, yeah,” he said, leaning back and folding his arms. “Some prick got up in my grill last night and said he'd run us out of town if I didn't pay him off.”

“Mmm...” Oshana growled, her ears sinking against her head. “Normally I'd condone your discretion and swallowing your pride, but mayhap you should've let them 'talk' to me. I _am_ a Companion, and at the end of the day that tends to lean in my favor despite being a Khajiit.”

“Well, what's done is done.”

“Just for future reference.”

“You got it. Do you have a seal or something?”

“Oh yes!” Oshana reached into a pocket and pulled out a necklace. A pendant in the shape of a wolf head hung at the end of what looked like an ebony chain. Fancy. The wolf head was made of bright copper-colored corundum and had tiny ruby eyes. The teeth were shards diamond.

“Wow, that's beautiful!” Johanna proclaimed, leaning in to get a good look at it.

“Only the Circle carry these pendants,” Oshana said, clasping the pendant between her fingers and studying it. “Even though I'm not actually a part of the Circle, Kodlak wanted me to have one anyway...” She trailed off, frowning.

“So what happened between you and the other Companions?” Bastet asked, studying Oshana not without a hint of suspicion.

“Well...” Oshana thought, and Hugh could tell she hadn't come up with a convincing lie to cover for the lycanthropy.

Knowing her sister all too well, Bastet could tell there was something Oshana didn't want to reveal. Bastet looked up at Hugh. He was poorly pretending to warm his hands, she could smell the sweat on them. She decided to give Oshana one last chance...

“Sister, just tell me. You seem to be on good terms with their leader, but all his underlings are giving you trouble?”

Oshana looked back at her. “To be frank, Kodlak isn't exactly a commander. Each Companion is their own at the end of the day, even the whelps, but the Harbinger is there to advise and impart wisdom, not give orders. They love and respect Kodlak but... well, it's not something I can tell anyone lightly...”

“Damn it I'm your sister, not chopped liver. You think I'm going to use my dragon's voice to broadcast whatever the big secret is to all of Tamriel?”

“Heheh, no, but I can think of a few good stories you could literally shout at the world,” Oshana said back with a smile. She heaved a sigh and pushed the fire a bit with a stick. “Alright...” she looked up at the Earthlings with a glare.

“Hugh, I have a feeling you already know, but let me just tell you to keep your mouth shut nevertheless.”

“Why the fuck would I tell anyone to begin with? _Who_ would I tell?”

“I feel it needs to be said despite that, don't argue with me,” Oshana shot back wearily. She fixed her gaze on Johanna next, who shrunk a bit under it.

“Girl... keep the gossip off your lips.” Johanna mimed zipping her lips shut.

Satisfied, Oshana turned back to Bastet. “It happened during a raid on a tomb with Farkas,” Oshana began. “We were retrieving the fragments of Wuthrad... parts of Ysgramor's axe,” Oshana told Bastet when she saw Bastet didn't know what that was.

Oshana smiled and shook her head sheepishly. “After I made a fool of myself by locking myself behind a gate we were ambushed by the Silver-Hand... a group of degenerates dedicated to hunting werewolves...” Oshana shook her head again, this time in a state of semi-disbelief. “Farkas turned into one right there, tore them all to pieces. Heheh... so much of my fur stood on end I probably looked like a child's stuffed animal.”

“The Companions... they're _werewolves_?” Bastet said incredulously.

“The Circle are, and as you know, I was invited to join their ranks after that raid,” Oshana went on. “That's why I can't 'truly' join them, they won't permit Circle members without the beastblood, and there is no way I will forsake Aetherius in favor of Hircine's Hunting Grounds.”

“But they didn't exactly cast you out,” Bastet pointed out.

“No, there's no animosity between the Circle and I... not much, anyway. I'm still friends with them, but they're stalwart when it comes to the beastblood. Kodlak understood, though, Divines bless him.”

“Although maybe not...” Bastet stated.

Oshana nodded morosely. “'Not' is correct. Kodlak has the beastblood just like the others, but he's grown to regret it in his old age. What is considered a gift to most of them is a curse to him. He wants to join his ancestors Sovngarde after his final breath, but he can't without the spirit of the beast tainting his soul. Shor won't tolerate daedric influence in his Hall. So he understood my defiance, my wanting to join our departed family in the After.”

“Is there any way to help him?” Johanna piped up. “He sounds like a good guy, he should go to whatever heaven he wants.”

Oshana chuckled lightly. “I would love to help him, but the End Times and the Dragonborn come first.” She gave a sideways smirk to Bastet.

Hugh shifted on his seat, clasping his hands. “Oshana, I should tell you something important about Kodlak. Don't freak because I didn't bring this up sooner, but I was waiting for you to tell Bastet about the lycanthropy.”

“We'll see how serious this is, then we'll find out whether I will 'freak out.'”

“Whatever. At some point Aela and Skjor are going to launch an attack on a Silver-Hand fortress... Skjor gets killed because he went in alone...”

“Hugh... I'm doing my best to be patient...”

“So am I, but it ain't easy being the fucking keeper of secrets that make people wanna rip my head off... figuratively _and_ literally,” Hugh snarled. “First I'd recommend getting in contact with them when we reach High Hrothgar, borrow the Greybeards' ravens. Thing is the attack would be 'triggered' if you had taken the beastblood, so maybe it hasn't happened yet, but I'm betting it will at some point. So if it happens the Silver-Hand will retaliate... they'll attack Jorrvaskr and kill Kodlak.”

Oshana huffed and clenched her fists. “Yes...” she said through gritted teeth, staring down at the fire. “I... thank you... Hugh. Truly. I know I've been hard on you, but I can imagine knowing the things you know can be a burden... especially when _we_ are aware.”

“Sometimes I think we need to sit down one day and lay it all out... have a whole freaking conference about any potential future events. But I don't wanna dump a truck load of heavy shit on you at once... let's just say Alduin isn't the only nemesis we need to worry about.”

“Great...” Bastet muttered.

“Exactly, that right there,” Hugh pointed at her. “Call me a milk-drinker or some gay insult that would get your ass kicked where _I'm_ from, but I'm not going to just unload other stresses on anyone at once.”

“Please don't... you make a good point,” Oshana admitted. She snuck a subtle glance at Bastet. She was gazing down at the fire with an unreadable expression, her hands clasped. There was a while more of silence as they all sat in thought.

Soon the fire was beginning to die. As the warmth faded the foursome got up and began climbing again to keep their blood running and the warmth inside their bodies. They rose further up the windswept ledges. The air grew thinner and their breath became more laborious. Vertigo started to set in, so they stuck close and helped to steady each other; pussyfooting on the ice was hard enough without getting dizzy.

It was a good hour before they became exhausted again, the thin air practically making them gasp for breath. It was at this point Johanna collapsed to her knees, but not from slipping on the ice. The three turned and huddled around her as she wheezed.

“Easy now, girl,” Bastet said, resting her hand on Jo's shoulder. “Breathe slowly and evenly.” Johanna nodded weakly.

“Sorry...” she said hoarsely.

“Don't be, you can't help it,” Oshana said to her.

“Thirsty?” Hugh asked, offering Johanna a waterskin. She nodded and took it from him, taking ginger sips.

They gave Johanna a few minutes to recuperate then were on the move again. They made over one final slope and found themselves on flattish ground, the steps more like tiles now. Ahead of them was a curve.

“Hugh, tell me...” Bastet breathed, shifting the rucksack over her shoulders as she panted.

“Just around the corner,” he said with a tired grin. “So before we head on, I think we should eat loaves of bread as fast as we can, bend right over and let the blood rush to our heads, then race at a full sprint to High Hrothgar... then maybe when we get there we lift heavy shit with our backs and not our legs.”

“Fake Winter Tips: Skyrim Edition,” Johanna cracked, making Hugh laugh.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he said and laughed a bit more with Johanna. But the sisters were ignoring them and decided to plod on ahead. Hugh and Jo didn't bother to fall in step, they just followed at their own pace.

As they came around the bend the walls of the castle-like monastery slowly came into view. Granite blocks of dark gray rose two stories, dim glass windows shimmering in the crisp winter sun. Twin sets of steps climbed up the foundation, leading to two sets iron doors set apart by a narrow tower. At the center of the steps upon the dark bricks was a weathered ornate chest, surrounded by various odds and ends: offerings from those who made the pilgrimage: jewelry—mainly amulets of the Divines, alchemy ingredients, soul gems, small sacks presumably of food.

“Of all the places to erect a holy place... the Throat of the World...” Oshana sighed, partly in wonder, partly in bemusement.

“Pity the ones who must bring regular supplies up here,” Bastet said, shaking her head. “Especially considering the steps are no place for beasts of burden.”

“I don't even want to think about it...” Oshana replied. They were silent for a few moments, looking up to the steps. After a while each of them looked to Bastet. She felt the eyes upon her, rubbed her forehead nervously, then once again lead them up the steps. They reached the door and Bastet pushed it open. The old hinges screeched and wind rushed behind them as it was sucked through the open door. They hastily stepped into the dim but blessedly warm monastery. Hugh shut the door behind them as they all shivered involuntarily from the sudden change in temperature.

Before them was a wide open room, the ceiling high and shrouded in shadows. At the center of the room, kneeling on the floor was an old man donned all in gray. His robes, his beard, even his eyes. He raised them, looking at the Khajiit sisters and the Earthlings with patient appraisal. But his eyes focused on Bastet.

“I can see the look about you, feel the energy,” he said to her, rising to his feet. Bastet approached. “You have learned fragments of the dovahzul, uttered a word of power after slaying a dragon and consuming his soul.

“Welcome, Dovahkiin.”

 


	7. Interlude: The Vanishing of Hubert Sylvester

Interlude

The Vanishing Of Hubert Sylvester

 

            Fran paced the living room anxiously, clutching a phone in her hand, habitually chewing on the antenna that protruded from the head.  She took it down from her head and looked at the dim analog screen.  The battery meter read low.  She huffed and practically slammed it back into the cradle that was screwed to a wall covered in wallpaper colored dark blue with red roses stenciled on in rows.  She continued pacing, hugging herself.  Her hair was a dark chocolate color with streaks of gray fraying her scalp.  She imagined after this it would all be white.  She hugged herself, rubbing the wool beige sweater.  It had been three days since Huey had left on his trip and not a word from him, not even a text.  With that thought she hastily went to a side table sitting next to a red wing chair by the wide sun window.

            Their living room was more parlor-like.  Fran’s taste had always been ‘posh,’ or the kind of ‘posh’ a middle-class family could afford anyway.  The carpet was burgundy, which she felt contrasted well with the wallpaper.  Their furniture was typically of wing seats and couches, save for her husband’s recliner, which was a real eyesore in her opinion but Randal had insisted on this lumpy brown one.  It was either this or if she ‘denied’ him he’d get a big leather one with an entire graphic of the Canadian flag being its ‘color.’  Huey of course had backed him at the age of twelve.  Boys often sided with their dads.

            Fran grabbed her cell off the table and flipped it open.  Only texts from her sister, Randal, and some telemarketer.  Not Huey.  She opened Randal’s message.

            “did hugh call yet?!”

            Fran thought about calling him, but he was at work at the yard, he was probably busy… but god damn it this was their son!

            She took a shaky breath as she punched in Randal’s number.  It only rang once before he picked up.

            “Hey, Fray,” he said, sounding exhausted.  Not the kind of exhausted like after a long day of work, it was only nine thirty in the morning.  He was like her: agonizing over Huey.  She couldn’t even smile at his old “Hey, Fray,” greeting he used all the time when they were young and only dating.

            “Randal, he still hasn’t called,” she said lowly, trying not to choke up.  “I don’t know what to do, is there something?” she asked him desperately.

            “Yeah, yeah, babe, there is,” he said haggardly.  She could hear the sounds of the lumberyard in the background.  Saws, the beeping of a reversing forklift, voices calling.  She heard a door open and slam and the sounds disappeared.

            “Okay,” he said with a sigh.  “I just thought of this a few minutes ago: call Mick Hutchins, he might know something about Hugh, maybe even seen him if we’re lucky.”

            “What’s his number?” she asked, immediately bustling towards the landline phone.  Beneath it was another side table against the wall with phonebooks, an address book and sticky notes and pens.  She grabbed the latter two and waited, hearing Randal fiddle with the phone.  After a few seconds he told her Mick’s cell number.

            “I woulda called myself, but we just got a shipment and David’s being a shit as usual,” he said to her.

            “It’s okay, I’ll call you back when Mick finds out where he is,” she said.

            “Alright, Fran.  I love you.”

            “I love you, too, sweetie…” she whispered, clenching her jaw to fight off tears again.  When Randal hung up she sucked in a breath, a few tears escaping.  She wiped them away and put in Mick’s number.  It rang for a bit before going to voice mail.

            “Fuck you, pick up!” she blurted out, hanging up and redialing.  On the third ring he picked up.

            “Hullo hullo!” he called, sounding somewhat out of breath.

            “Hi, Mick?  I don’t believe we’ve even spoken,” she forced a little laugh, “I’m Fran Sylvester.”

            “Ahhh!  Yeah, Randal talked about you a lot,” he said.  She could tell by his voice that Randal hardly spoke about her the times they met, he was just saying that.  “What can I do for ya, missus Sylvester.”  She didn’t even bother to tell him just to call her Fran.

            “Yeah, uh, listen… did you see Huey arrive at the cabin at all?  I know a slim chance, but…”

            “Oh yeah, I did,” he said, hearing a touch of worry start to creep into his voice.  “Why d’ya ask?”

            “Well, he hasn’t called back yet, not even a text.  Me and Randal are a little worried.  I know you’re probably busy, but if you can-”

            “Missus Sylvester, say no more. I’ll get out there soon as I can,” he told her reassuringly.

            “Oh thank you so much!” she said with a small amount of relief, but she wouldn’t rest at ease until Mick called her back with some good news.

            “I’ll call you back as soon as I can, missus Sylvester.  Have a good’un.”

            “You too, mister Hutchins.”

            “Please, call me Mick.”

            Heh, okay, Mick.  Thank you again.”

            “Welcome.  I’ll call ya back.”  With that he hung up.  Fran sighed again, sinking into Randal’s ancient recliner.  He had certainly well imprinted his ass into the seat and she couldn’t help but laugh a little as she practically fell into it.  Tears were mingled with her laughter, though, when she turned her head and saw a picture frame showing Randal with an eight-year-old Huey in their hockey jerseys, both holding up foam number-one-finger mits, looking like they were yelling at the camera with huge smiles.  It was a good picture, even if they had red eyes.  She picked it up and wiped some dust off the glass, then just sat there and stared at it.  Especially at the boy’s face, full of glee with what was probably a smear of pizza sauce on a corner of his mouth.  Fran wiped some more tears from her eyes.

 

            Mick bit his lip as he looked upon Rick’s old cabin.  It was dark and uninhabited looking, save for Hugh’s Toyota pick-up parked outside.  Mick parked and killed the engine.  He pulled his gloves and hat from the pockets of his Carhartt and put them on.  All bundled up, he opened his door and climbed out into the frigid air.  After a few knocks on the door and peaking through the windows of the cabin, Mick espied Hugh’s footsteps.  It hadn’t snowed since Hugh had arrived, but looking up at the sky he could tell it was going to happen soon, so he better get to tracking. He trudged for a good while, calling out Hugh’s name as he did so.  Then he saw it.  A few meters ahead, something brown, furry and covered in blood.  It was way too big to be a deer, but not big enough to be a bear.  He swallowed and stepped closer, pulling down the strapped double-barrel from his back and holding it ready.  The closer he got to the body, the more he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  A mountain lion… no, not a mountain lion… a god damn sabertooth lion!  Just like the stuffed ones in the museums.  It was shaggy and muscly, laying on its side with one half of its face coated in blood from an apparent gunshot wound through the eye.  The other eye was still open, black and yellow, and somehow still looking pissed off.

            “HUUUUGH!” he bellowed, looking around.  Only the still silence of the winter woods answered him.  “Christ alive…” he whispered, dialing the emergency line.  When someone picked up, he said, “Yeah, I’m calling to report a missing person: Hubert Sylvester.”

 

            Randal huffed as he set down two bundles of cedar shingles on a pallet.  Beside him a co-worker, Chester, set down two of his own.  He was a new kid, couldn’t be much older than eighteen, with almond colored skin and black curly hair growing into a small afro.

            “Hey, Randal,” he said, getting the older man’s attention, “You’re kinda… angry, or somethin’.”  Randal chuckled.

            “Ahh… just anxious,” he sighed, taking off his cap and wiping the smear of sweat from his brow.  “My son hasn’t called back in a few days.  Went up north for some hunting.  So uh…” He wanted to say, “I’m sure he’s fine,” but he was far from sure.  Chester frowned but didn’t say anything.  This was clearly virgin territory for the kid.

            “Don’t worry about it, Chess,” Randal said dismissively and decided to change the subject.  “You ask that girl out yet?” he asked as they made their way back to the pile of cedar bundles.

            “Yeah, man, and she was _into_ it!” he said triumphantly, putting a blessedly honest smile on Randal’s face.

            “Think she’ll be _into it_ all the way?”

            “ _Hell_ yeah, she invited me to her place after a movie tonight… parents are outta town.” He gave Randal a sly grin.

            “Ohh I love it when the parents are out of town,” Randal said and they both laughed.  After bringing another four bundles to the pallet Randal’s cell rang.

            “One sec, Chess,” he said to the boy.

            “Don’t worry I got you covered,” he said back.  Randal stepped away, saw the caller ID and picked up.

            “Mick?” he asked.

            “Yeah… listen, Randal…”

            _Oh Jesus Christ, please no…_

            “Mick, what is it?” Randal asked shakily.

            “See… I… I, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.  I’m sending you a picture…”

            “What?  Just tell me where my son is!” Randal yelled.  A few heads turned, including Chester’s.

            “I don’t know!  Just look at the picture.”  Randal blinked dumbly, then fumbled with the phone when a tone rang.  He opened the photo he was sent and his breath caught in his throat.  What caught his eye first was the blood, and it nearly gave him a heart attack, but then he saw it was just an animal… only not just any animal…  Randal was at a loss.  He was staring at the corpse of a sabertooth lion, shot in the eye.  He heard Mick’s voice on the speaker.  He stared in stupefaction for a few more moments before listening to Mick again.

            “Randy, ya there?”

            “Yeah…” he said barely above a whisper.

            “Buddy, listen, I just reported Hugh as missing-”

            “Wait, _missing?_ ” Randal repeated, but Mick went on.

            “Randal, I called in some game wardens and they’re on their way now.  I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find your boy.  Just… the lion… shit, I would’ve been more liable to believe a Bigfoot sighting than a sabertooth…” It sounded like he said the last thing to himself.  “Anyway…I called you first… figure it’d be easier on your wife if she heard it from her husband.”

            “Uh… yeah, yeah.  Thank you, Mick.  Thank you.”

            “Listen, buddy, I’ll call you back if anything comes up, okay?”

            “Yeah, do that, Mick.  Thanks again.”

            “It’s no trouble, Randy.  Hey, listen… we’ll find him, okay?  We’ll find him…”

            Randal didn’t even bother to say goodbye.  He hung up and stood there for a few moments, trying to register what was happening.  He stared down at the concrete floor, his fists clenched.

            “Yo… Randal?” Chester said tentatively.

            “Chess, do me a favor, tell David I’m off for a while.”

            “You bet, Randal… but… what happened?”

            “He’s…”  Randal almost said “gone.”  “They’re going to look for him… so are we…”  With that, Randal walked out of the warehouse and to his truck.

 

            Fran choked and sobbed over Randal’s shoulder as they held each other.  Randal sobbed, too, stroking Fran’s hair.  They stood in the mudroom.  She had come practically running when she heard him come in.  Then he told her the news.  They fell apart after that.

            The landline phone rang, and they let go of each other.  Sniffling and wiping away tears, Fran strode to the nearest telephone and picked up.

            “Hello?” she asked.  After a moment she snarled, “Go fuck yourself and never call this number again!”  She slammed the phone so hard the cradle fell off the wall, clattering to the ground, the battery popping out of the receiver and skidding across the floor.

            “Jesus, Fran!” Randal exclaimed, but she went over to the kitchen sink and began sobbing again, covering her mouth.  “Who was that?” he asked as he picked up the pieces.  He didn’t bother to set up the phone again, just laid it on the breakfast table.

            “Fucking Jehova’s Witnesses…” she said, ripping a paper towel from the roll and blowing into it.  Randal came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.  She stared down at the sink.

            “Listen, Fran, they… _we’ll_ find him, okay?” he said softly into her ear as he put his chin on her shoulder, sliding his hands down to the sides of her belly.  He kissed her cheek.  “We’ll go up there and help them look.  Mick texted, there’s already a helicopter scanning the area.”  He looked out the window above the sink.  In view was their neighbor’s house, a white walled with black shudders, some paint peeling off but otherwise a decent looking house.  The suburb they lived in had been built up back in the forties, and the houses around the neighborhood generally reflected that era, but with the contemporary flairs a part of the current times.  New cars, satellite dishes on the roofs, the LED glows of flat screens through the living room windows at night.

            Fran sighed and took his hands.  “We should pack.  I want to be ready in an _hour_.”

            Randal kissed her cheek again.  “You’ve got it, sweetie.”

 

            The day after the search had commenced and the Sylvester parents joined the search up north, the media had caught wind of the case and started covering it.  Then the authorities officially announced the case to all news outlets in the area.  Bigger ones started broadcasting across Ontario.  One such story was being shown on an old wall-mounted TV behind the counter of a diner off a road running north of the town of Chapleau.  It was fairly early in the morning and most of the patrons were truckers, all sucking down coffee and chowing down on eggs, bacon, ham, and big stacks of pancakes.  One couple stood out from the Carhartt jackets, beards and pot bellies.  A man and a woman in their forties sat at the counter in long black coats, shrouding black suits and ties over white shirts.  They nibbled on toast and a cream cheese bagel, respectively, and cups of coffee.  Both ate quietly.  The woman was swiping the screen of her cell while the man focused on his butter and strawberry jam toast, taking gulps of coffee between bites.  His hair was just starting to recede, was a natural shaggy mess he just settled on running a comb backwards over.  He had dark eyes and a perpetually sullen face, yet somehow maintained a sense of humor compared to his partner.  She was a redhead, looking somewhat older than him judging by some extra lines on her face.  She wore some eye shadow and red lipstick, mechanically taking sips of her coffee as she stared at the screen of her phone.

            The man glanced up at the TV, and the headline caught his eye.  “Man disappears under bizarre circumstances.”  The man nudged the woman, grabbing her attention, then he nodded up at the TV.  When she was watching he asked a waitress to turn the TV up.  Now that the volume was up, other patrons started taking notice.

            “Around five days ago a man from the town of Picascis disappeared under mysterious circumstances while on a hunting trip in the Piqani Woods about an hour north of the town.  What’s utterly baffled authorities and even _scientists_ alike is the apparent corpse of a _sabertooth lion_.”

            “The shit?” a man chuckled.  Now all the heads had turned to watch the screen, even the diner’s staff.  Since this was a bigger news network, they hardly cared about the missing man and instead went on about the lion.  The anchor had given the story of a field reporter who was standing in a snowy woods, in front of a setup of white tents powered by generators.

            “Thanks, Jane.  On Wednesday at about ten AM a cabin custodian by the name of Mick Hutchins was asked to look for Hubert Sylvester on request of the missing man’s father.  But what he discovered was shocking.”  Then images of the beast started displaying in place of the reporter, making the people murmur and exclaim.  “We assure you this is not a hoax.  The body of what many considered an _extinct_ prehistoric animal was discovered, dead of a gunshot wound to the head, presumably at the hands of Hubert Sylvester before his disappearance.”  The images faded away and now two men stood beside the reporter, a game warden, and a gray-haired man in a scientist’s uniform.  “I have with me Sergeant Dominic Keaton of the Piqani Game Wardens and doctor Geoff Strauss, who is studying the sabertooth.  I first want to address Sergeant Keaton about the missing man.  Sergeant, what can you tell me about the search for him?”

            “Honestly, it’s one of the strangest I’ve ever seen,” he stated, “Aside from the lion, I mean.”

            “How so?” the reporter asked.

            “Well, when we traced Sylvester’s footprints we found that they simply stopped during a point he seemingly turned back to his cabin.”

            “Can you provide details, Sergeant?”

            “Yes, the scenario we’ve projected is that Sylvester came out here and first climbed a hunter’s perch in that tree back there,” he pointed to a big oak with the shattered remains of the perch Hugh had fell from days before.  “As you can see, it was old and fell from under him.  We don’t think he was seriously injured since imprints indicated he was able to stand up.  Then, oddly enough, about thirty feet from Sylvester the tracks of the lion appear.  And I mean they literally appear, no tracks leading up…”

            The trenchcoat man murmured to the trenchoat woman, “Well, that’s all I need to hear.”  She nodded in agreement.

            “Agreed.  Well, let’s settle up,” she said, waving the waitress over.

 

            After only half finishing their breakfast the man and woman returned to their jet black Chrysler 300 and made their way north, driving through Sylvester’s home town before following the road to the Piqani Woods.  It was a few hour’s drive, but they arrived at about eleven in the morning.  They followed the driveway to the Sylvester cabin before they were stopped by a police officer at a checkpoint of police and Game Warden SUVs.

            “This is a restricted area, folks, official business only,” the officer told them through their window.  The man and woman reached into their coats and showed him their badges.

            “I’m Agent Joplin,” the woman said, “and this is my partner Agent Lee.  We’re from CSIS.”  The man squinted his eyes, leaned in and looked carefully at the badges.

            “CSIS, huh?  Guess I should’ve expected this.  I suppose you’re more interested in that lion than the guy, huh?” he said with a hint of accusation in his tone.

            “Believe it or not we’re just as interested in Sylvester as we are the animal,” Lee told the officer.

            “Well, park over there and I’ll have Officer MacLeod take you to the site.”

            “Thank you much, officer,” Lee said as Joplin pulled to a parking spot.  She frowned when a reporter and his cameraman stared at them with the same look crows save for roadkill.

            As the agents climbed out of their vehicle the Channel 5 News strode over to them, but before the reporter could say anything Joplin gave him a little what for.  “Listen, sir, we’re not taking any statements, and if you stick that microphone in my face I’m going to make you eat it.”  Normally a threat from an authority figure would be like a filet mignon to a reporter, but Joplin had a certain… “aura” about her that scared damn near everyone, and the reporter and his cameraman both backed off wordlessly.  The agents moved on to Officer Macleod, who waited by the trail leading to the site, lined by LED lanterns hanging from stakes hammered into the ground.

            “Agents, if you’ll follow me,” MacLeod said.  They walked for a while through the woods. Instead of the normal winter silence it was permeated by barking hound dogs, voices calling for Hubert, Hugh and Huey, rumbling generators, and way overhead the _whupwhupwhupwhup_ of several helicopters… although they would be called in soon, since it appeared the snow storm that had been building up for the past couple days looked like it was about to come down.  The clouds were black and menacing, hanging close over the Earth, heavy with ice.  It was so dark it was almost like a gray twilight rather than midday, and already other officers were on their radios telling people to return to their campsites before the storm hit.

            “Christ, that poor guy is gonna freeze out there… if he hasn’t already,” MacLeod said.  “I don’t get it.  He’s an experienced hunter, not the first time he’s been up here alone, from what the parents told.  How could he could get lost?  Even if he was freaked out about that lion.  That’s even weirder!”

            “Well, we’re here to get answers,” Joplin said to him as she buttoned up her long coat.

            “Dunno how many you’re gonna get, the eggheads are all spazzing out about the sabertooth,” MacLeod said.  Through the dark woods ahead they could see the blazing glow of industrial lights illuminating the site.  Big white tents had been pitched up, all interconnected by tubes that the figures of people if hazmat suits moved through.  The tents were basically portable sealed facilities to keep contaminants away from the lion.  Beyond the scientists’ camp site was another more army-like one comprised of olive green tents where the search parties stayed.  Among the small living tents was one larger one with a stainless steel chimney wafting steam.  That one had to be the mess hall.  There weren’t many people milling about since most of them were out searching, but the few that walked to and fro were a mix of official authorities and volunteers from the small town of Piqani, obviously named after the woods it dwelt in.

            “So, you wanna see the lion with Doctor Strauss first or speak to Sergeant Keaton?” MacLeod asked.

            “Let’s speak with the Sergeant first,” Lee asked.  MacLeod nodded and took them to the search and rescue camp.  He led them to a tent and opened the flap.

            “Sergeant, some CSIS agents here to see you,” MacLeod said.

            “Bring ‘em in,” Keaton said.  The agents stepped through and found themselves in front of a folding table acting as a desk for the Sergeant.  A laptop was sitting before him along with a radio and a cellphone.  A single cot sat against the wall of the tent.

            “I’ll be outside, Sergeant,” MacLeod said.

            “Alright,” Keaton said back and MacLeod disappeared behind the flap.  Keaton stood and studied the agents.

            “So, how can I help?” he asked them, not enthusiastically.

            “I’m Agent Joplin,” she said to him, “This is Agent Lee, my partner.”  They all shook hands.  “We’d like to see the site where Sylvester disappeared, if we could.”

            “Sure,” Keaton said, turning to put on his jacket.  Once he had his radio and sidearm he took the agents to the spot where Hugh had last been.

            “So, I’m gonna be honest… I really don’t believe Sylvester is out in those woods,” Keaton admitted as Lee squatted down to study the prints.  A tarp had been built up above the entire spot to block the oncoming snowfall.  Construction site lights hung from the rods that held up the makeshift ceiling.  Strips of orange tape had been laid down to prevent investigators from marring the tracks with their own prints.

            Joplin turned to Keaton. “What makes you say that, Sergeant?”

            “Heh,” he chuckled humorlessly as he regarded the woman with disdain.  “Don’t kid me, Agent.  Something really weird is going on here, and I don’t mean just the lion.  Now I’ve been assuring everyone else that Sylvester is out there somewhere, but that was for everyone else’s benefit.  Especially the boy’s parents.”

            “And you think… what, exactly?” Joplin said.  “He disappeared out of thin air?”

            “Yeah, actually, just like that _sabertooth lion_ appeared out of thin air… like the tracks indicate.  Sylvester was headed in the direction of his cabin, so he _wasn’t_ lost.  And then…” he looked to Lee as he studied where Hugh’s tracks ended.

            “Just look at that,” he said.  Joplin did, but she knew what she was looking at.  She had seen similar tracks in desert sand, meadow grass, and swampy muck.  Sylvester had been knocked down by some force and pushed into the snow, as the snow around the imprint of his body had also been compacted, forming a shallow bowl in the snow.

            “So you think Martians?  Or the Illuminati?” Lee asked as he continued to study the tracks.

            “Act like I’m a nut all you want, you know I’m right.  And I doubt this is the first time you’ve seen this.  Why else would you show up at this particular case?”

            “Oh sure, we showed up because of the weirdness,” Lee said to Keaton as he stood straight.  “But don’t go on about a conspiracy like-”

            “Look, whatever,” Keaton grunted, “Pretend all you want, but if you asses know anything about what happened here… well, I don’t expect you to, but try and get that kid back.  I know I’m gonna have to break it to his parents that he’s gone at some point.  No one’s going to give up the search after the storm, so I have to pretend there’s still more than a snowball’s chance in hell we’ll find this kid huddled under a pine branch teepee being kept warm by a twig fire, gnawing on the last of his beef jerky.”

            During that speech Joplin had taken out here phone and pretended she was looking for a signal by holding it in the air.  But the readings found by her device confirmed the remains of an extraversal energy still floating in the air.  If there had been any doubts before the readings, they had been washed away by the readings.  Hubert Sylvester was now a confirmed Taken case.

            “Thank you for showing this to us,” Joplin said to Keaton.  “If you don’t mind we’d like to speak to Strauss about the animal.”

 

            Before the agents were allowed into the lab where the lion was being studied, they were asked to exchange their clothes for hazmat suits and to stand in a decontamination chamber.  When the disinfectant had been sprayed on their suits they entered the lab.  The sabertooth sat on a stainless steel table in the center of the tent, surrounded by electronic instruments and trays of autopsy tools.  One side of the creature’s torso had been peeled of its flesh down to the bone, along with the wounded side of its head.  To Lee it looked like a lion version of Two-Face from the _Dark Knight_.

            Strauss was looking through a microscope, mumbling under his breath in awe.  Joplin cleared her throat.  The doctor stood straight and turned to them

            “Can I help you?” he asked, approaching them.

            “Agents Joplin and Lee, CSIS,” Joplin told him.

            “CSIS… well, it was only a matter of time before intelligence wanted in on this,” he said with a sigh.

            “What can you tell us about the animal, Doctor Strauss?” Lee asked.

            “Where to begin?  Aside from the fact that it’s a bleeding sabertooth lion.  First of all, the bone structure matches absolutely no known fossils of other saber cats.  In fact saber ‘cats’ are not quite cats at all, not comparatively to modern lions and tigers of the modern era anyway.  What we know as big cats today are a result of convergent evolution.”

            “What are you trying to tell us, Doctor?” Joplin asked.

            “I’m saying that this animal shouldn’t exist, and not from the fact that saber cats are extinct.  I just finished studying the genes of this creature and… well, it matches nothing found on Earth…”  Strauss trailed off, seeming to not believe what he himself had just said.

            “So we’re not dealing with little green men but sabertooth lion knockoffs,” Lee stated.

            “Joke all you want, but that’s what the evidence points to, and it of course only raises thousands more questions!” Strauss exclaimed.  “If this creature is not of Earth, where is it from?  _How_ did it get here?  Why would it resemble a species from our planet if it’s from a different planet?  Science fiction offers the notion that alien worlds are just exotic versions of Earth, but that’s only a result of limited imaginations.  I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here.  How it’s connected with that Sylvester character.”

            “You a little upset he shot it?” Lee asked.  Strauss shot him an agitated look.

            “Disappointed as I am that this animal isn’t alive, I can’t say I blame the boy for shooting it, since it clearly attacked him.  I only wish he was here to give us a first-hand account of what happened.”

            “And not that he could give his mommy and daddy a big ol’ hug,” Lee replied drily.

            “That’s rich coming from you, sir.  I can only imagine what you truly know about this entire scenario that’s unfolded before us.”

            “Hm.  You and Keaton,” Joplin muttered, glancing away to look at some of the instruments.

            “Oh he and I had a good long talk about what’s happened here,” Strauss told them.  “We may be of different professions and here for vastly different reasons, but we all know there’s something happening here that goes beyond the disappearance of Sylvester and the appearance of this animal.  We’ve done our research, this isn’t the first time this phenomenon has happened somewhere on this Earth.  We only wonder how stories like this haven’t exactly been catching on,” Strauss said accusingly.  “As fascinating as the Kardashians may be the Earth’s population, I still find it strikingly odd how news of alien creatures appearing hasn’t been trending on Twitter as of late, or been covered by the mainstream media.  I don’t suppose either of you would have anything to do with that.”

            “Well, not us specifically, no,” Lee said.

            “I suppose I’ll soon be ordered to turn over my findings to CSIS.”

            “You already are,” Joplin told him.  “Meet us outside, we’ll discuss the subpoena I’ve been tasked to give you.”

 

            After a few more minutes of arguments from Keaton and Strauss, Lee and Joplin were driving away from the site.  In a day’s time more agents would be on site to oversee the handling of the situation, and the two agents were on standby again until further notice.  Lee drove this time as Joplin began writing a report on her laptop.

            “Couple of agents reported some teenage girl from Minnesota disappearing a few days before Sylvester,” Lee brought up.

            “That so?” Joplin said distractedly.

            “Yeah, but get this, the parents found a mudcrab scuttling around their house.”  Joplin looked at him at that.

            “Really?  Two Taken to Tamriel within a few days of each other.”

            “That’s more than coincidence.”

            “Quite.”  They were silent for a bit, Joplin staring at the screen of her word processor where she had punched in the first paragraph of her report.

            “You know if they sent an Operative to Tamriel?” she asked.

            “No, but I bet they did.  If he’s good maybe Johanna and Huey will get to see their folks again after all,” Lee said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

            “Hmm…” Joplin murmured, then began typing again.  “If that happened… well, I think it’s only a matter of time before this whole thing blows wide open.”

            “What, in the age of the Internet?  Yeah, it’s gonna happen pretty soon I bet.”


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

We Can Work It Out

 

            First the Greybeards taught Bastet the second word of Unrelenting Force.  They tested her Thu’um, projecting apparitions of themselves with their own shouts so she could use the new word on them.  When they were satisfied Arngeir lead the group to the second level.

            “We wondered if the Dragonborn had companions, so we arranged some rooms used for the few times we have students staying here,” Arngeir told them as he lead the company down a corridor.  At the end of it rows of wooden doors flanked them with one at the very end of the hallway.  “We saved this room for the Dragonborn,” he gestured to the door at the end, “but pick whatever quarters any of you wish,” the old man told them.

            “Thank you, Master Arngeir,” Bastet said.

            “You are quite welcome, Dragonborn.  If you have any needs or questions, seek me out.”  With that he stepped away, leaving them to inspect the rooms.  The one offered to Bastet had a single king sized bed, an armoire, a small dining table and a pantry of dried and canned goods.  The other rooms had two twin-sized beds each, their own dining tables, armoires, and smaller pantries.

            “It would be best of Jasi got ‘your’ room,” Oshana said to Bastet as they looked around the master bedroom.

            “Mayhap.  But I think I’ll take it anyway,” Bastet said back with a smirk.

            “Ohhh no!  You are _not_ pairing me in the same room with her.  Even if there was a twin bed tall enough for her I still would never rest well beside her experimenting on some spell or potion,” Oshana ranted back.

            “The more you go into detail the more tempting taking this room becomes!” Bastet teased as she flopped back on the bed, unceremoniously kicking off her boots for added punctuation.

            “You think _either_ of us will lie down and take that?” Oshana shot back.  Bastet rolled her ankles, eliciting pops from her joints then crossed her legs casually.

            “Would you dare defy the great Dragonborn?  Especially around the Greybeards?”

            “Heh, please, you overestimate their dedication to you.  They just want to teach you their particular brand of shouting, even though you’re allowed exceptions to the arbitrary rules their Way of the Voice touts.  Oh yes,” Oshana said smugly when Bastet gave her an inquisitive look, “I can pick up a book like anyone else.  The Greybeards may give you some leeway, but that doesn’t mean they won’t make an episode out of your actions.”

            “Why would they?  It’s not like I’m going to storm any castles, shouting this way and that,” Bastet told her.  Oshana started to frown at that.

            “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about that, actually,” Oshana said, taking a seat at the dining table.  Bastet sat up straight and swung her legs over the side of the bed to look at her.  “Don’t take this the wrong way, I know you and love you… but, those with the Dragon Blood have been known to become intoxicated on the power of the Voice.  Bastet, you don’t simply have the ability to kill dragons and use their powers, your soul is actually a dragon’s soul.  You may be Khajiit in body, but in spirit…”

            Bastet looked down at the floor, ringing her hands as she thought about Oshana’s words.  Oshana patiently awaited her response.  Her sister’s words troubled her, a little deeper than she liked to admit.  Did dragons even go to Aetherius when they died?  No, that’s ridiculous.  It was like Oshana said, her spirit may be of the dov, but her body was Khajiit, which meant she would someday die and her soul would ascend to the After.  But the thought of this power controlling her… it honestly hit a little too close to home.  Simply learning how much powerful her voice could become just by learning new words had filled her with an exhilaration she had never experienced before.  Similar to the moments she had bested mentors in sparring, but she had worked up to those points in her swordsmanship.  Learning a new word of power to strengthen her voice was as simple as it sounded, and attaining power so easily…

            “You… have a point,” Bastet admitted, suddenly not able to meet Oshana’s eyes.  But she could feel the worried gaze on her nonetheless.  “Learning that new word… it was somehow more profound than when I learned the first one when I slew that dragon.  It showed me how easily the power can come… and how easily I can wield it.”

            “I know you, Bastet.  I’m by no means insinuating you can’t control your power… but you have to understand that the dragon part of you will always want to… dominate.  To conquer.  That may sound ridiculous now, given your mellow history, but it may rear its head now that it’s been awoken.”

            “I know what you’re saying,” Bastet agreed, loosening the collar of her shirt as the nervousness made her feel hot.

            “You should talk long and hard with Arngeir, I think.  The entire point of the Way of the Voice is to temper the innate desire to dominate.”  Bastet nodded in agreement and they both went silent.  Outside the room they could hear Hugh and Johanna chattering as they investigated their room.

            Bastet smirked.  She said, “Maybe it’s good _you’re_ not the Dragonborn.  You’d have Skyrim under your iron fist in but a few months.”

            Oshana chuckled.  “Maybe it would have compelled me to accept the beastblood as well, to further my power.”

            All of a sudden Hugh stepped in, scanning the room.

            “You’re gonna give this room to your fat sister, right?” he said to them.  Oshana burst out while Bastet fell back on the bed, grinning up to the ceiling and shaking her head.

            “Ahem.”

            Oshana ceased laughing immediately, her ears perking straight up as she looked over Hugh’s shoulder.  Her jaw dropped slightly.  Bastet launched herself up, almost throwing out her back in the process.  Hugh bit his lip and turned around slowly.  He saw Johanna leaning out her door, staring in awe at the person who stood in the hallway.

            The Cathay-raht Khajiit was tall and broad shouldered, appearing jaguar-like in comparison to her lynx-like sisters.  Her head covered in golden-yellow fur with dark stripes streaking across her pelt.  Her eyes were the same blue as Bastet’s, but had a more appraising and disdainful look to them.  Her clay-red hair was long and roped into cornrows, decorated with copper rings studded with mineral stones.  She was shrouded in a set of sheen muted teal robes, lightly plated with shards of malachite glass.

            She regarded Hugh coolly with her arms folded over her chest.

            “And to whom do I have the pleasure?” she asked Hugh with a husky and cold voice.

            Bouncing back, Hugh put on a grin and held out his hand, “I’m Huey Sylvester,” he introduced himself as Jasi’s large hand took grip of his wrist.  “I’m the sage adviser of our little team.”

            “As I can plainly see,” Jasi said back with a polite smile.  Her eyes turned up to regard Bastet and Oshana as they stood beside each other.

            “Bastet, I’m assuming this is one of the idiots you told me about in your letter.”

            “’Idiot?’” Hugh repeated.

            “’One of?’” Johanna added.

            “How in Oblivion did you get here?” Bastet said with a laugh, pushing Hugh out of the way to go and hug Jasi with Oshana close behind.  The larger Khajiit grinned and squatted slightly to return the embrace.

            “Well…” Jasi began, letting go of Bastet and taking in Oshana.  “The Arch-Mage was very understanding when I told him my sudden leave was of a family matter.  Kindly he offered to teleport me to High Hrothgar.  An expensive process that requires the combined powers of a grand soul, a considerable amount of the caster’s magicka, and a particular type of scroll much rarer and more intricate than your standard spell scroll.  One way trip, I’m afraid.”

            “I’m glad that raven was so fast,” Oshana said, squeezing Jasi’s hand before stepping back.

            “You had me a bit scared when you said it was an emergency,” Jasi told them.  “Thankfully you’re both okay.  So please, tell me… and introduce me to your new idiots.”  She cast a look at the Earthlings.

            “I’m Johanna, and Hugh’s the idiot, not me,” she told Jasi.

            “Keep dreaming, sister,” Hugh shot back.  “I just have untapped potential, that’s all.”

            “’Untapped potential,’” Oshana repeated.  “He’s actually the jester.  Anyway, come, let’s talk in here.”  Oshana led them into the master bedroom.  They all pulled up chairs to the bed (Jasi could only sit on the bed) and began their meeting.  They told her of Bastet turning out to be Dragonborn, which she briefly had a hard time believing before Oshana pointed out that they were at High Hrothgar for a reason.  Then it was on to the matter of Hugh and Johanna.  As he had for Bastet and Oshana, Hugh played Jasi the Skyrim trailer, leaving her stunned for a few moments.

            “I’m almost tempted to bring you back to the College for study…” she eventually said, her fist over her mouth as she stared at the wall with wide eyes.

            “I’m not real comfortable with how earnest that sounded,” Hugh said back.

            “I think an autopsy would be the best course of action,” Oshana put in.

            “Okay, Oshana, when you’re roofied tonight: you, me, a bottle of shaving cream and a razor.”

            Oshana opened her mouth to snarl something back, but Bastet cut in, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”  All Oshana was capable of was a steely gaze directed at Bastet which the other Khajiit pretended to ignore.

            “Christ I wish you had a camera for that,” Hugh said to Bastet.

            “A what?” Oshana asked, turning to face him, but she blinked and shielded her eyes when a bright flash briefly blinded her.  “What was that?!” she exclaimed, rubbing her eyes.

            “Take a look,” Hugh said with a smirk and showed her the screen of his phone.  He had taken a snapshot of her with a dumb look right on her stupid face, mouth open and eyes half-closed.  She looked like she was high.

            “Ha!  That’s neat,” Bastet remarked.  Jasi studied it curiously while Oshana just fumed.

            “Get rid of that,” she growled.

            “Nah, it’s too good of a conversation starter at parties,” Hugh said, putting the phone away.  “I’m thinking if there’s ever a Companions reunion party.”

            “I swear, if you…”

            “Okay!” Jasi interrupted loudly, prompting everyone to look at her.  “Fun as the boldness of your new pets are, we should get down to business if we’re to prevent the end of the world.”

            “She has a point,” Bastet said.  “I think it’s time we had a meeting with Arngeir.”

 

            All of the company save for Jasi sat at the Greybeard’s Council table.  She leaned on the wall watching as the rest took their seats, with Arngeir at the head.  The old man eased into the stone chair and lowered his hood, revealing a head of long, scraggly gray hair pulled into a ponytail behind his head.

            “Next time you see the Arch-Mage again, Jasi, tell him the accuracy of his teleportation spell is most impressive,” the old man said to the mage Khajiit.

            “He’ll be pleased to hear it,” she said back.

            Arngeir leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, looking at each of the company.  “Even before this meeting I’ve noticed you all have something… pressing to tell me.”

            “Yes, about my friends Hugh and Johanna,” Bastet said.  She looked to Hugh and nodded.  Hugh reached into a pocket and took out his phone.

            “So,” he began, “Imagine the entire universe and all of its dimensions.  From Mundus to Sithis.  Now imagine that all encapsulated in a bubble.”

            One Multiverse lecture and a showing of the Skyrim trailer later, a baffled Arngeir put the phone down, folded his hands together, then propped his chin on them.  He looked down at the table’s surface, his face creased in thought.  The company waited for him to process the information.

            “How much do you know?” he finally asked.  They knew who the question was directed towards.

            “A handful of solid facts,” Hugh said.  Arngeir regarded him with a hint of suspicion.

            “And pray tell what that means.”

            “The thing with—what we on Earth call the ‘video game’ version of Skyrim is just artificial.  You walk into a specific place, an event triggers the same time every time.  Obviously that’s not how the _real_ world…s work.  I know certain things, yes.  Who has been undercutting the Thieves’ Guild and Black-Briar deals, I’ve told Oshana that Jorrvaskr may be attacked by the Silver-Hand in the near future… and who Paarthurnax is, too.”  Arngier opened his mouth, but Hugh cut in,   “And before you say anything, I may as well just tell everyone anyway.  They’re going to find out sooner or later.”  Arngeir sighed wearily.

            “Very well,” he conceded, “But I will do so.

            “Dragonborn,” he said to Bastet, “In time you will be permitted to climb to the peak of the Throat of the World to meet the leader of our order, Paarthurnax.  He will be the greatest teacher of all of us, as he is a dragon.”

            Oshana’s eyes widened and she sat up straight.  Jasi murmured, “Fascinating,” and Johanna uttered “Whoa…”  Bastet, however…

            “Hm,” she said with a shrug.  “I had a feeling.  All this mystique… the way Hugh glanced up at the peak almost the whole time we were climbing.”

            “Still can’t believe Paarthurnarx is also Super Mario,” Hugh muttered.

            “Wait, seriously?” Johanna said in surprise.

            “Oh yeah!  The guy that voices ol’ Paarthy—can’t remember his name—does Mario, too.”

            “What on Nirn…?” Arngeir muttered.

            “Just ignore them when they do that,” Oshana dismissed.  “But last night Hugh told me the key to defeating Alduin is rather simple, given his knowledge.  Hugh?”  Everyone looked to him.  He cleared his throat.

            “So…”

            Hugh went on to explain the process of defeating Alduin, with the words of power that would render his body mortal, the Elder Scroll, the Time Wound.

            “So basically we just raid an old dwarven city for the scroll, learn the word, and we’ve got Alduin’s Kryptonite.”

            “But even with this shout I doubt he will be easy to slay,” Bastet stated.  “I will need more than that to stand toe to talon with him.”

            “You are correct, Dragonborn,” Arngeir agreed.  “As invaluable as this information is, Hugh, you _all_ must build up your strength.  I can see plainly that you sisters are all well acquainted with battle, but even with your formidable skills you will be hard pressed to contend with other dragons, let alone the World Eater himself.

            “There are other words of power to be discovered and learned, all across Skyrim,” Arngeir explained, rising to his feet to pace slowly.  “Upon the roosting peaks dragons favor to the tombs of ancient Nords who were versed in the dovahzul.  That is of course how you learned ‘fus,’ I take it,” Arngeir said to Bastet.  She nodded.

            “There is a tradition and test all Dragonborn are sent to prove the skill of their thu’um,” Arngeir said.  “The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller rests in the tomb of Ustengrav, at the northeast edge of the swamp of Haafingar.  When you are ready you will travel to the tomb to retrieve the horn.  From there we will continue to teach you in the Way of the Voice…” The sharp old man noticed Hugh tapping his fingers and looking up at the ceiling.

            “Is there something I should know, Hugh?” he asked, not unkindly.  He seemed to be rather understanding of Hugh’s predicament.

            “About the horn,” Hugh said.  “It’s possible that it’ll already be taken when we arrive.”

            “And by whom?”

            “A woman named Delphine… a Blade.”

            “The Blades!” Arngeir exclaimed, finally losing his patience and becoming angry.  “I had suspected perhaps they would return with the coming of the Dragonborn, but not so soon, and having the audacity to steal a sacred relic.  But then again I suppose that is their only way to get the Dragonborn’s attention.”

            “And by Blades do you really mean the old guards of the Imperial Emperor?” Oshana asked.  “Just wanting to be sure here.”

            “Yeah,” Hugh said.  “Personally I’m not a fan.  At some point they’ll discover Parthurnax’s identity and try to convince Bastet to kill him.  But they are kind of handy before that happens.”

            “Barbarians…” Arngeir muttered, taking a seat again.  “I trust you have more sense than that, Bastet.”

            “If this Paarthurnax has been living peacefully and teaching a pacifist’s ideology, then I have no reason to take his life,” she replied.  Arngeir smiled at her.

            “I see you will be a wise Dragonborn,” said he.  “And I can see the wisdom in Hugh’s words.  As long as you don’t act under their influence, the Blades may be helpful allies.  Be warned, Bastet.  The Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they only truly serve themselves.  They’ve only _relied_ on the Dragonborn of the past to help in their crusades.  Mayhap justified in ages before, but now the Way of the Voice should be allowed to take hold in the dov who accept to listen.”

            “No offense, but that’s sounds rather… cultish,” Jasi stated.  “Commendable as your philosophy is, you of all people should know the nature of dragons.  And I can’t help but note the semi-tyrannical undertones of your last sentence.”

            “Jasi!” Bastet hissed at her.

            “No need to scold her, Bastet,” Arngeir said.  “I can understand why she thinks that.  But you are forgetting a key point in the nature of dragons,” he said to the Cathay-raht.  “A dragon’s desire to conquer is innate, and without the temperament of the Way of the Voice a dragon is free to attack anything or anyone it so chooses.  Nearly all dragons after the fall of the Dragon Cult had to be slain in order to safeguard the worlds of men, mer, and beastkin alike.  The Way of the Voice had not been spread beforehand and thus never reached the ears of the dov.  You must understand it is essential in the hopes of allowing dragons to coexist peacefully with mortals.”

            “I see…” Jasi said, nodding and mulling the words over.  “I suppose I better start researching these topics,” she said to herself.

            “So, about the predicament Hugh and Johanna find themselves in,” Arngeir said, looking to the Earthlings.  “I suppose you are in search of those who can help you.”

            “An ancient dragon might be helpful, but I haven’t ruled out the mages of Winterhold, Azura, or… shit, there’s a whole heap of people out in Tamriel I could go to,” Hugh explained.  “But I want to help with Alduin before any of that… although…” he looked to Johanna.  She looked back at him with an inquisitive expression.

            “What?” she asked.

            “Well… Jo, you don’t know a whole lot about Skyrim.  If we manage to find a way home before we kill Alduin… I think you should head home, and I’ll stay here to fin-”

            “Oh ho hooooo no!” Johanna interrupted.  “I’m too invested in this now.  I’m not gonna run and fuck off while there’s still evil to destroy, _especially_ not in a few months when we’re all close friends.  Plus, I can promise you _all_ I’ll be up to snuff for battle and my White Mage duties.”

            “Your what mage duties?” Jasi asked, raising a brow with an ear leaning half back in confusion.

            “RPG-nerd terminology for a medic,” Hugh said to Jasi then turned his attention back to Jo.  “Jo… uh, well, okay.”

            “You’re not gonna argue with me?” she asked in surprise.

            “Not really.  Honestly it was just an idea, I didn’t say I was gonna _make_ you go home if we found a portal or something.”

            “Oh… well good.  I’m here to stay.”

            “Jasi can teach you to better use scrolls and maybe staffs,” Oshana said.  “Hugh, I can teach you swordsmanship.  You can’t be relying on your bow the whole time.”

            “I get that,” he said back.  “But yeah.”  Hugh turned back to Arngeir.  “Whenever you say we can, we’d like to ask Paarthurnax if he knows anything.”

            “Soon I think,” Arngeir said.  “You are all part of a formidable and smart company.  And the wrath of Alduin accelerates your search for power.  Sooner than I prefer, personally, but there will always be exceptions when concerning the Dragonborn.  Especially in these dark times.”

            “Hugh, are these Blades exactly… required in our quest?” Bastet asked.

            “Not really.  Like I said, we have the Elder Scroll, we know we’ll need Odahviing to take Bastet to Skuldafn-”

            “About that,” Oshana interrupted.  “There is no way in Oblivion she is going alone.  Jasi, do you think you could get your mage friends to teleport us there?”

            “If it’s a previously unknown location to any mortal living, than no,” Jasi said.  “But, if Bastet arrives there _first_ we can use her as sort of a beacon for the spell to lock on.  If we focus on her, we could potentially get an entire party there.  It will take a lot of magicka, scrolls, and quite a few grand souls, but I hardly think the College would deny us their services if we’re talking about literally saving the world.”

            “Good,” Oshana said.  “And Bastet, don’t argue against it with your ‘Dragonborn destiny.’”

            “I’m wasn’t and am not going to.  Fuck raiding a hidden crypt and fighting a dragon demigod on my own,” Bastet shot back.  Oshana chuckled back and Jasi smiled.

            “I’m not keen on leaving that horn in the hands of some Blade,” Arngeir spoke up.  “…but, the sooner we defeat Alduin the better, and you all seem set on your plan.”  He stood from his seat.  “I shall speak with the others.  They will understand.”  He put his hood back on, bowed his head, and left the room.

            “So, when should we leave?” Oshana asked.

            “Within two days, I think,” Bastet said.  “That will give the Greybeards some time to teach me a few things, and Johanna and Hugh can begin practicing their magery and swordsmanship.”

            “Ah, at last, I can beat him without having to provide an excuse,” Oshana said, shooting a smirk at Hugh.

            “One vee one me, scrub,” he said back.  She only shook her head.

            “Can a girl from a non-magical universe even cast scrolls or staff magic?” Jasi said, studying Johanna.

            “I’ve used scrolls before… and yeah, it was weird how easy it felt,” Jo told her.  “And aren’t those things for people who can’t use magic anyway?”

            “Yes, but even those who don’t possess magical talents still have a connection to the magicka that permeates the air of Nirn, and thus they can use ‘sealed magic’ as we call the kind found in staves, scrolls and gemstones.  But I can only hypothesize that since your arrival in Mundus the magicka in the fabrics of our dimension has made a connection with you.”

            “Oh, wow… where does magic even come from?”

            “From the sun,” Jasi stated.

            “Wow!  Some form of funky radiation, huh?” Johanna said to Hugh.

            “Well the sun and stars in this universe are actually holes to the dimension Aetherius, where the gods are,” Hugh told her.

            “Whoa!  Really?” she asked in amazement.

            “So wait… what are they in _your_ universe… if not that?” Jasi asked eagerly.

            “Literally giant balls of fire, thousands to _millions_ of times bigger than planet Earth,” Hugh told her.  She gaped.

            “Truly?” she asked, forcing her backside into a seat beside him.  Hugh realized he had just backed himself in an interrogation… and so did the sisters.

            “Well, we’ll leave you two to talk mysticism… or science or whatever,” Oshana said, getting up with Jo and Bastet.

            Ignoring them, Jasi went on, “So if your sun is as large as other stars… how far away can they be to appear so small?”

            “Ooh boy, I wish I had some NOVA documentaries saved on my phone,” Hugh sighed then began to tell Jasi all the secrets of his cosmos.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Back On The Road Again

 

The morning after their arrival to High Hrothgar the company awoke early. After a short breakfast of steamed ham, bread smeared with butter and honey and goblets of snowberry juice, Bastet joined the Greybeards in the courtyard for her Voice training. On the second floor Oshana took Hugh to a sparring room while Johanna was whisked to a spell practice hall with Jasi.

The sparring room, while recently cleaned and dusted, still was clearly unused. Students had not taken part in the room’s practice offerings in many years judging by some lingering cobwebs on the dummies at the center of the room. At the right end were racks of practice weapons. Dull swords, axes and maces, all somewhat rusty. Sets of cheap light and heavy armors were present as well, practice garbs meant to simulate wearing the real deal, but obviously made of lesser metals unfit for actual combat.

Oshana lead Hugh to the rack of armor and looked them over.

“Nothing like your scale armor,” she stated, looking over the light sets. “The chain is close enough, so use that in the meantime.”

They donned their armors—Oshana throwing on a pair of worn leathers.

“I may as well ask,” she spoke up, “but do you have _some_ experience with a sword?”

“Narp,” Hugh said back. “I’m okay with my hands, though, in case that ever comes in handy. No pun intended.”

“Really?” Oshana asked, looking at him thoughtfully. “Care to show me?”

“Sure, but no claws.”

“Hmph,” she laughed lightly, standing straight to face Hugh. “This time I won’t unsheathe them, but if you ever have to battle another Khajiit I’ll have to use my claws to show you how dangerous they can be. Men severely underestimate the lethality of them until they have ruptures in their jugulars and arteries. Believe it or not Khajiit do not take use of claws lightly, for those very reasons. We regard them almost with the same severity as a blade.”

“Duh. Getting nicked by my house cat back home is bad enough.”

“Quite.”

They stepped into a small ring and both stood at the ready. Oshana decided not to bark any orders to see how he approached her, but he decided to wait for her move. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, she streaked over to him, fists ready. She took a jab at his cheek, but with unexpected swiftness he sidestepped her blow and grasped her wrist. Her eyes widened and before she could counter his grip, he twisted her arm around behind her back. She hissed as he kicked behind her knees, making her buckle to the floor. Pain lanced up her arm as he twisted her wrist in a submission lock.

“Agh!” she cried. “I yield!” she exclaimed.

“Whoo!” Hugh whooped, releasing her. “Been a while since I’ve actually done karate, I’m kinda surprised I pulled that off.”

“Karate?” she asked, standing to face him as she massaged her wrist.

“Ka… um…” he thought for moment. “Oh! Martial arts!”

“You mean… like the old Akaviri fighting styles?”

“Now that you say that, yeah. The Akaviri are based on Eastern Asian cultures… in the game anyway. Here they’re just… well, the Akaviri.”

“Heh,” she laughed. “So that actually means you have a firmer grasp on their ancient fighting techniques than anyone in Tamriel, including the Blades.”

“Well, I’m not a ninja or a samurai, and the karate I learned was just a hobby I had as a kid. But yeah, with that being said, I’m pretty bad ass.”

“I’m sure whether it’s Akaviri martial arts, Imperial legionary discipline, or Nordic wild savagery: they all frown upon bravado.”

“Well aren’t they all special little snowflakes,” Hugh taunted, shifting into a stance. Anticipating his skill this time, Oshana struck for his midriff. Hugh batted her hand aside and made to knee her in the hip, but she sidestepped the attack and threw an uppercut. But to Hugh’s shock her ivory claws glinted in the torchlight. He snapped his head back and grimaced when the tip of her middle talon streaked into the flesh of his chin, leaving a clean cut that seared.

“Christ!” he gasped but jumped back when Oshana took another bat at his cheek. He could almost hear a whistle as the tips of her claws cut the air menacingly. He decided to use his emergency move he called ‘Hold the fuck up!’ Growling through his teeth he hunched over charged a thoroughly off guard Oshana. A comical “oof!” escaped her lips as he rammed his shoulder into her belly, lifting her clean of the ground. He rammed her for a good few feet before slowing, only to grasp her by the crotch with one hand and her throat by the other. He raised the writhing Khajiit over his head then considerately tossed her into a mat. A mat in which he had greatly underestimated its buoyancy. Instead of hearing the usual _puff!_ when a body struck it, the sound of jarred bones slapped onto a rug that had practically petrified over the years.

“Ach!” she grunted, rolling onto her side and sitting up.

Mortified, Hugh began to apologize. “Shit. Sorry, I thought that-”

“Haha!” she chuckled though an open mouth as she stuck her fingers into it to feel her teeth. They were dabbed with blood when she removed her fingers. A bit of it stained her bottom lip and dribbled into her fur, but was barely discernible in the dark gray hair. “What are you apologizing for? That was a fair fight.”

“Yeah. I guess springing the claws on me was meant to keep me on my toes.”

“Well, you’re going to be the least insufferable of the few people I’ve trained,” she commented as she climbed to her feet.

“Don’t bet on it. You’ve got buttons. I aim to push them all and turn you into Chernobyl,” Hugh joked as he stepped over to the sword rack. He grabbed two iron pig stickers and tossed one to Oshana. She caught it and watched him as he started sliding his fingers across his phone which sat on a countertop.

“En garde,” he said, raising his sword to her as a drum beat began to sound off on the Samsung. “I’ll let you try my Wu-Tang style!”

“ _Bring da muthafucking ruckus! Bring da muthafucking ruckus!_ ” RZA chanted.

Oshana sighed.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Johanna’s eyes only scanned the calligraphy of the scroll briefly before it puffed into ash. Energy coursed in her hand and she raised it to see a softly whirling core of frozen air in her palm. A shard of ethereal ice spun gently, tendrils of misty steam evaporating through her fingers, her palm tingling against the chill of the spell.

“Now focus the energy in your hand,” Jasi told her. “You can feel the raw power beneath your skin, yes?”

“Yeah, it’s kinda freaky actually,” she said, barking a nervous laugh. It honestly felt like something was worming around in her wrist, twisting around her bones, but not uncomfortably. She realized the magic was _in_ her blood stream, but focused at the hand.

“When you channel your magic does it feel like it’s coming from your heart?” Johanna asked when the thought of magic in bloodstreams occurred to her.

“It does indeed,” Jasi answered. “But focus on that spell first and I’ll tell you more how magic in a person works.”

What was most eerie about the sensation in her hand was that she felt like she could control it as one could move their own fingers. There was no thought process or force of will to projecting the magic into her palm. The steaming orb in her hand spun faster and the streams of chilled air jetted between her fingers like vapor through a volcanic fissure. She opened her hand and a hissing spike of ice rocketed across the room with a _fwoosh!_ It shattered against the stone wall, throwing shards of ice everywhere.

“Wow!” she proclaimed with glee. “Wish I could do that without a stupid piece of paper.”

“Staves should allow you to cast spells far more effectively,” Jasi explained to her. “They’re expensive but well worth the cost for their versatility, for magi and non-magi alike.”

“Well this Muggle wants to test out one of them!” Johanna proclaimed with a wide grin.

“May as well,” Jasi said, stepping over to the doorway. A collection of staffs she had brought leaned beside each other on the wall adjacent the door. She chose one: a smooth, light tan rod with delicate engravings that appeared not to have been carved _or_ painted, but seemed naturally occurring on the wood. When it came to the head the smooth wood turned gnarly and twisted round, opening up to hold a light blue orb within its tendrils.

“This design,” Jasi said as she handed Jo the staff, “designates a staff of restoration. And this,” she pointed to a symbol that had been carved into the wood at the base of the head, “means it is a healing staff, so perfect for your role in the party.”

_Dat DnD vibe, tho,_ Johanna thought to herself and tried not to smirk.

“So like, there are different restoration spells other than healing?” Johanna asked.

“Yes and no. Technically any healing spell is the same spell. Whether you heal yourself or another person over time, or in one short burst. Same as if you were casting a fire spell. You can just open your palms and throw a constant gout of flame, or you could toss a fireball. Depending on how long you are practiced in the Destruction school determines the strength of your spells. Same as other schools. But those are lessons for those who can summon magic all of their own. Using sealed magic is very basic, so our lessons should not take long.

“By now you should know that healing spells aren’t as… literal as the name implies. Say I… cut myself.” Jasi then unsheathed a black blade embroidered with gold from her hip. She held out her hand and created a gash, barely wincing at the pain.

“Come on!” Johanna exclaimed. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“This is important, Johanna, we’re trusting you to preserve our lives, so an example needs to be made,” Jasi told her as she let the gash in her palm bleed out, her blood patting on the stone floor. “And that is a more accurate term as opposed to ‘healing:’ ‘preserve.’ When a healing spell is applied to a wound it only temporarily negates the injury to a certain degree.

“Cast on my hand.”

Johanna didn’t hesitate to point the staff. On its own an almost blinding ray of light drifted out of the orb at the end and swirled around the Khajiit’s hand. Although Jo's hand only held it, for a moment the staff felt strangely like it was a part of her body. And yet the eerie sensation didn’t make her want to drop the staff.

Jo stared in fascination as the light soaked into the glaring red gash. What happened was the light somehow seemed to take on a physical form and sealed itself in the wound, like some ethereal glue. The wound was still open, clearly, but not bleeding.

“I enchanted that staff myself,” Jasi told Johanna as she flexed her hand almost effortlessly. “My skill makes the staff potent enough that even a novice can use it effectively. I watched you and noted your lack of concentration when casting its magic. I have to say I find that mightily unusual for a person from a world where magic is fantasy.”

“So… what does that mean?” Jo asked, starting to get a strange feeling.

“Who knows? It may be as simple as the magic of Aetherius melded with your body and soul as easily as it does to natives of Mundus. I’d like to have Hugh use sealed magic at some point to see if he has the same ease as you do.”

“I know it’s a long shot but… do you think this air-magic can make me cast spells like you?”

“I find it unlikely, but the simple fact that you are here sort of renders standard practice moot. It’s possible, but I only say that purely on the basis that I haven’t the slightest.” Jasi chuckled.

“At any rate, the spell you cast should keep this wound sealed for a good hour until I decide to allow the magic to dissipate in favor of conventional solutions. But during that time my flesh will continue to heal at its natural rate. There are other healing spells that _do_ speed up the process, however, but they require much magicka, especially for serious injuries.” Jasi opened her wounded hand again and a font of light glowed brightly but softly above the cut. She flexed her fingers open and the orb of light blazed and hissed softly. Johanna squinted and just managed to make out the cut sealing shut within a manner of seconds. Jasi stifled the spell and the orb faded away. Johanna blinked as her eyes adjusted and regarded Jasi’s scarred palm with amazement.

“That’s so fucking cool,” she blurted out. Jasi smiled, a bit confused over her usage of ‘cool’ but she figured that was the girl’s native slang.

“I could remove the scar if I wanted, but that would require an extra bit of magicka. Which of course is no trouble, but in more severe cases it’s actually best to not use all of one’s magicka in an attempt to heal a serious injury swiftly. Better for the mage to pace his or herself in releasing her magicka so as to not be drained at a critical moment in the patient’s care, or in case there is more than one wounded.”

“You said you can run out. So like, it empties out when you use too many spells and recharges over time?” Johanna asked.

“Magicka is the soul’s energy, and the energy of the soul is one in the same as one’s body. If I used excessive amounts of magicka I could potentially make myself pass out. But that is a worst case scenario. Usually a mage is unable to use much magicka after the point of exhaustion. While some magicka can ‘recharge’ as you put it, really what will revitalize the magic—thus the soul and body—is just a simple rest. A night’s sleep, or even a nap will do, or in case of emergencies one can use magic restoring potions. This goes for all magi, greater and lesser. But those who have been practiced in the arcane arts for decades—as I have been—can muster their strength for the better part of a day, if one is using sensible spells. I can go on and on throwing bolts of lightning, conjuring atronochs, or projecting wards from dusk ‘til dawn and maybe be a bit more tired at the end of the day than usual. Greater spells will take more out of me, though. I know, I’ve tried my hand at summoning ancient daedra and melding fire and ice into one element… heh, the last one did end up making me black out for a few moments. And that was recently.”

“So are you, like, trying to become all-powerful?” Jo asked.

“No, I’m not,” Jasi answered with a laugh. “I simply tried it on a bet and won. No, being able to fuse two vastly different elements into one is something only mages who have extended their very own years of life beyond their normal thresholds can accomplish with the ease of a standard elemental spell. No, I intend to live out my years naturally.”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

“Okay, take a rest,” Oshana said to Hugh as he panted, trying to figure out which swollen bruise to massage. There were plenty on almost every part of his body. He had managed to give Oshana a few in return, but she barely seemed to notice them. Hugh did his best not to limp over to a bench. He heaved onto it and nonchalantly tossed his sword aside. Oshana took a seat next to him and rested her sword on her lap.

“Glad you’re not whining,” she said. She looked at the counter where Hugh’s phone sat, now playing a _Rob Zombie_ number. The industrial headbanger sung to them how he digs through the ditches and burns through the witches, slamming in the back of his Dragula.

“What sort of instruments do you have that make those noises?” she asked.

“Electric guitars and computers, for that particular brand of metal anyway,” Hugh told her. He was about to ask her for some water but she offered him a bottle before he could say anything. He took it and drunk deeply.

“'Metal?’”

“Yup. I could spend all day telling you about the nuances of rock and roll and metal music, and that still wouldn’t cover it. Modern music has gone through decades of numerous cultural mini-renaissances for over a century.”

“Sounds like something Jasi would be interested in,” Oshana said, taking back the water and drinking.

“Nah, she wants me to tell her about science,” Hugh said with a chuckle. “But I only know random trivia I read in text books and watched on TV.

“I also meant to bring something up during our meeting,” Hugh told her.

“And that is?”

“The dwemer kept the Elder Scroll in one of their fancy cases that’s operated by some half-baked puzzle, but we need a lexicon to unlock it. There’s some crazy old guy north of the college called Septimus who has one.”

“Oh Hugh, Jasi could have…” Oshana trailed off and sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen, shit like that won’t happen again, I mean it. I’ve got a grip on all this now.”

“Please do. Write it all down if you have to.”

“Way ahead of you. I’ve been writing stuff down on my phone’s memo pad. Top priority: fresh horker loaf.”

“That… I can’t argue with. Those stale hunks from the other night couldn’t hold a candle to a fresh chop caught in the morning.”

“Alright, good, finally got something in common.”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

Hugh and Oshana spent their entire day in the training room. Blood and sweat was shed to the beat of Hugh’s jams, which not only made the entire trial actually bearable for him, but was a hilarious morale booster when ‘battle music’ was selected in the shuffle every so often. Unfortunately at one point Oshana began to appreciate the new music and turned those songs against him. It was especially tough when he kept losing through the sweet licks _Imperanon_ ’s “Blade.”

Through the windows they could see the sun was lowering. Hugh grunted tiredly as he parried a handful of blows from Oshana. After the final one she stepped back and raised her hand.

“Good,” she said. “Very good, actually. You’re no Whispering Claw but I think you can give amateur brigands a run for their septims.”

“Hooray, I’m slightly better than a bandit, praise the Cheeki Breeki, can I get a ‘cyka!’” Hugh cheered sarcastically, raising his hands in the air and waving them at the Almighty…ies.

“I suppose we could squeeze in one more round,” Oshana teased with a smirk as she ran a claw over the dull edge of her sword.

“Or I could squeeze your head and watch shit come out of your ears.”

Oshana cackled at the joke, slapping her thigh. “Come on,” she said between subsiding chuckles, stepping over to the weapon rack to place the sword in its slot. “We need a decent meal after that sad lunch of leftover ham.”

“I heardat,” Hugh agreed as he followed suit.

 

**: : : : : :**

When they threw their armor off and headed downstairs everyone else was already seated at the table. It was a simple meal of venison stew, buttered bread and cheese with more snowberry juice. But after a day like today it smelled like heaven to Hugh.

“Wow, you’re still in one piece,” Johanna said to Hugh as he took a seat next to her.

“And I thought Jasi would’ve lobotomized you by now,” Hugh shot back.

“The thought crossed my mind when she got a hold of the lightning staves,” the Cathay-raht rumbled as she stirred her stew. Hugh finally noticed her fur was slightly bristled, but in an awkward way that implied more than a reaction to a surprise.

“Yeah…” Johanna muttered bashfully, cheeks rosy.

“Oh…” Oshana began to laugh. “Oh good gods!” She half-laughed half-sobbed, burying her face in her palm as she hitched uncontrollably. Bastet snickered, her puffy eyes signaling she had already gotten it out of her system. Jasi pretended to ignore the mirth as she forced herself to eat a spoonful.

“Seriously?” Hugh said to Johanna who burned even more now. “Did you at least say ‘unlimited powaaaa!’”

“Shut up, Hugh,” she said between gritted teeth, kicking him in the shin under the table.

“Similar jokes were made before the last time magic practice went awry in that room,” Arngeir warned.

“A good point,” Jasi agreed. “It’s not a matter to take lightly, Johanna. I… you… ahem, we’re _both_ lucky my robes are enchanted with ebonyflesh.”

“Look, I didn’t expect the staff to actually have kick back.”

“Yes, I did neglect to warn you, and that's my fault. But now you know.”

There would have been an uncomfortable silence if not for Oshana snorting helplessly as she struggled to get a spoon in her mouth without spilling the stew back into her bowl.

“Sorry…” she finally said when she got her laughter under control. “After these past few days I needed that.”

“So do you think Hugh is fit to fend off mudcrabs for us whenever we need the bathe in the wilderness?” Bastet asked Oshana. Johanna raised her eyebrows and Hugh glanced up at them from a spoonful.

“The small ones, maybe,” Oshana replied. Hugh shrugged and had another spoonful. There was a short silence, both Khajiit glancing at him.

After he swallowed he said, “Yeah real subtle. You can’t consciously set me up for innuendo, it has to come naturally. You can’t force it… but you can’t pull out, either.”

“I would have thought the two of you would be done with this already,” Jasi commented, shaking her head. “It’s like you’re still sixteen.”

“I dunno, I think they’re starting to see me as their boy-toy,” Hugh said to her. Jasi snorted and wiped her lips with a napkin.

“Now _that_ I can see.”

“Jasi, please, can you not allow us our occasional ‘girl’ moments?” said Bastet.

Hugh leaned toward Jasi and whispered (loudly), “Are they compensating because they both recently hit the big three-oh?” He received sour looks from them at that.

“Indeed, I believe so,” Jasi affirmed.

Hugh sniggered. “’Shall we gather for whiskey and cigars tonight?’”

Jasi gave him a confused look, but Johanna knew what he was talking about and she snickered.

“One of their in-jokes, ignore them,” Oshana told Jasi.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

The third day went routinely. Jasi covered some extra magical things with Johanna she felt the girl needed to know, while Oshana helped Hugh improve some of the new techniques he had learned yesterday. He did fairly better, so he was feeling pretty good. From outside they could hear the occasional shouts of Greybeards and Bastet. Once Oshana and Hugh espied Bastet atop the tower across the courtyard, kneeling meditatively as she spoke words of the dovahzul in a thunderous voice that made the monastery shudder.

“Who needs a silver tongue when you have that?” Oshana remarked. Her expression was creased with a combination of pride and apprehension as she watched her sister speak as a dovah.

“Yeah,” Hugh agreed. “She could get us all the sweetrolls we could eat.”

Oshana turned to him with an eyebrow raised and an ear half sunk. “I’m not following your logic. Of all the things…”

“Jeez, it’s obvious you’re worried about her, just accept the awkward joke to take your mind off it,” Hugh replied with mock exasperation. He flicked his sword up and grazed a tuft on her ear. “Come on, Pippi Longstocking, bang me some more.”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

The fourth day they were prepared in the morning to make the trip back down to Ivarstead, then on to the Winterhold Region. Arngeir was waiting in the entrance hall when the company gathered, bundled up from head to toe. Jasi was in her usual glass robes but with an enchanted amulet that completely warded off the cold. Much more powerful than the lesser weatherward rings the others had on their fingers.

“Dragonborn,” Arngeir said as he approached Bastet. “Alduin’s defeat must come swiftly, I know, but do not rush _yourself_. You have only begun to tap into your powers as Dragonborn. You will need all the strength you can muster if you are to contend with the World-Eater. Words of power lie hidden across Skyrim, and I can assure you that you will need as many of them as you can find. But I have no doubt with your sisters and companions that you will succeed.”

“Thank you, Master Arngeir. Being here was enlightening,” she said to him. He gave a slight bow and she returned one. She turned to her company and nodded. The group filed toward the door and stepped into the frigid mountain air to begin their trek down the 7,000 Steps.

 

**: : : : : :**

 

By midday they were crossing the bridge to Ivarstead, the company making a beeline for the stable.

“I wonder if the old man is willing to part with the larger horses for Jasi,” Bastet said.

“Worry not,” Jasi told them, “I’ve had to travel a bit more as an Adept student. I was taught a useful summoning technique to create a familiar of my choosing. I have a Senche familiar I can conjure and dispel at any time.”

“Ha! How do the locals react?” Oshana asked.

“About as you’d expect, throwing brazen insults at my cat magic but well maintaining their distance.”

“Heheh.”

Johanna asked, “Is a Senche another Khajiit breed?”

“Indeed,” Jasi told her. “Watch, but step back.”

Jasi moved to the center of the street, waiting a moment for some farmers to pass by. When the road was clear Jasi took in a breath and held her arms forward, palms up. No small orb of ethereal energy appeared in her palms, instead her entire body became encapsulated in a faint light, but was more focused around her arms. She knelt halfway, lowering her arms, those rose again, thrusting her hands into the sky. The light left her body and formed into a cat-like shape before her, but this form was almost twice the size of Johanna. Her eyes widened as the light shimmered and the shape took form, then became a solid giant cat.

All around a bunch of people murmured in surprise, a few stepping back in alarm as if a daedra had been summoned. Jasi ignored them as she approached the familiar and ran her hand through the coat of its shoulder.

“Most familiars are just transparent ghost-like constructs, but one as advanced as this appears how I see an actual Senche in my mind,” she explained. Jo approached and ran her hand through its fur, Hugh and Oshana watching the spectacle. Meanwhile Bastet went to the stable owner to retrieve their horses.

“What in Oblivion is this!” a familiar Nordly Nord voice thundered indignantly.

“Here we go,” Hugh muttered. Jasi turned to regard a furious looking guard striding forward, followed by a partner clearly not as enthused in Khajiit bashing (considering he was under the cold gaze of the almost-real Senche).

“My mount,” Jasi told the guard plainly.

“Well make it go away! It’s frightening people,” he ordered, hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

“I need it,” Jasi told him calmly. “We will be leaving shortly, and it’s under my command.”

“Are you sure about that?” the other guard said warily.

“This is no daedra, I have complete control over it. And I assure you I can just as easily control daedra, as well.”

“I don’t care, I want it gone or I’m arresting you,” the guard said stubbornly.

“First of all: you’re overreacting,” Jasi continued evenly, “and second of all: I already made it clear we will be leaving within a few moments.”

“One moment,” Oshana said suddenly, striding toward the belligerent guard.

“What?!” he spat at her, then noticed the Companions’ Circle pendant hanging over her chest. His bravado faltered at that. “You’re a Companion?” he said dumbly. But Oshana only held out her hand.

“The septims you coerced from my friend,” she said to him, jerking her head back at Hugh who waved with a smirk.

“I… not here!” the guard whispered pleadingly, feeling the eyes of onlookers all on him.

“I’m going to give you to the count of three before you feel my claws across your rosy cheeks,” she hissed, her tail lashing back and forth. He numbly fumbled with his pockets and surely gave more coins than he had taken.

She accepted them, then leaned into his face, whispering, “Now fuck off.” He begrudgingly turned and trudged away. The episode over, Oshana rejoined her friends. The citizens who had been watching returned to their business, albeit still casting nervous glances at the Senche familiar. Oshana handed the coins back to Hugh.

“Cool, I needed them for something important: the next time we’re at a wishing well,” he said.

“You have strange ways of saying ‘thank you.’”

“Yeah, he didn’t take this many,” Hugh told her with a smile, handing a few back.

“I hope not,” she said, returning the smile. That was when Bastet stepped out of the stable, leading her horse by the reins. She noticed the exchange of coins.

“Someone lose a bet?” she asked.

“No, just intimidating the locals,” Oshana answered smugly. Bastet gave her a wary look.

“I get the distinct feeling you’re not jesting,” Bastet remarked.

“Relax, we’re set,” Hugh reassured her as he pocketed his coins.

Deciding not to press, Bastet told them, “Well, all the other horses are ready to go.”

Hugh, Oshana and Jo entered the stable to take their steeds.

“Jermaaaa, how’s it goin’, buddy!” Hugh greeted his fjord stallion. The animal snorted and nodded to him excitedly. He stroked his muzzle for a few moments then untied the horse from the hitching post.  He and the others led their mounts outside, made sure they had all their gear, then mounted the steeds. Jasi looked pretty imposing on the Senche.

Almost every citizen in Ivarstead stared in wonder as the eclectic company rode out of town, heading south down the ridge from the Rift to the hot springs of Eastmarch.

 


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Into Darkness

 

Leaving Ivarstead by midday they found themselves arriving at the volcanic springs of Eastmarch close to dusk. Here the air was warm and sticky, and yet the terrain was nearly barren of plant life save for sturdier flora such as jazabay grapes, clusters of Carolina creeper... or, well, Tamrielic creeper, and the more unique dragon's tongue flowers. Johanna was mesmerized by the golden and red flowers and managed to pluck one from a ledge as Arya clopped by it. The earth of this wasteland-like plain was rough and hard despite all the moisture in the air and in the bubbling pools. A few honest-to-God, Old-Faithful-like geysers would occasionally blow high into the air. Spray from such geysers would shower the group. Bastet, Jasi and Oshana looked rather funny as tiny drops of sparkling water clung to their fur, making them glisten like Edward Cullen. When Hugh mentioned this to Johanna she laughed her ass off. The Khajiit—knowing the laughter was at their expense—begrudgingly kept silent, avoiding the urge to wipe themselves and appear even more indignant.

Eventually they stopped on the road when a herd of mammoths began crossing, flanked by the no-nonsense pale skinned giants. In this warmer clime they simply wore loincloths and not the furs of the tribes settled in the tundras.

“We have to bring evidence back to Earth,” Johanna breathed as they watched the migrating herd. “You know... besides to avoid looking insane when we tell everyone where we've been.”

“So you wanna volunteer to grab a mammoth tusk? Or one of those trolls skulls from that guy's clothes?” Hugh joked, gesturing to one of the giants that watched them coolly. His loincloth was adorned of said skulls, giving new meaning to tighty-whities.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Johanna retorted through gritted teeth, “arouse suspicion!”

“They won't do anything,” Oshana said dismissively. “Just as long as we keep our distance.”

Soon the herd had passed and they were on their way again. Another hour of riding and they were starting to have difficulty to see in the low light. Well, Hugh and Jo, anyway, the Khajiits' nightvision was far stronger than the humans'.

“A village called Kynesgrove is another hour away,” Oshana said. “We should dismount and lead the horses so they don't stumble around. I have torches-” Oshana was cut off when two bright rays of light flashed into existence.

“Don't worry, we've got what we need,” Hugh said as he clipped his phone's pocket-case to his shirt's neck, its torch being the source of light. Jo had hers strapped to her front hip.

“Hmph. Showoffs,” Bastet said as they all slid off their steeds.

Guided by phonelight and cats' eyes, the company hiked on with somewhat nervous horses shuffling unenthusiastically but obediently after them. The western horizon was stained with a small pool of orange and pink, the sky above blue and black. Looking behind themselves they could see the light of the two massive moons radiating from behind the mountains, but the celestial bodies had a while longer to show themselves.

One more hour passed and they were soon at Kynesgrove's inn. They stayed the night and set off again in the morning, the companions arriving at Windhelm by mid-morning. Hugh knew by now that Real Windhlem would be vastly different, but the size of one of the most celebrated cities in Skyrim still floored him. The bridge crossing the wide frozen river was grand and stark, windswept and encrusted with snow and ice. Monuments of Talos, Ysgramor, and other men and women Hugh assumed to be past Jarls of the city were erected on either side of the bridge. The first gate of the bridge was raised halfway but flanked by numerous heavily armored Stormcloaks, its parapets lined with balistae, longbow men and crossbow men.

A Stormcloak captain stood to the right of the entryway, staring at civilians that made their way to the city gate with a stony look. His gaze turned to the company as they all dismounted their horses. As they approached he stood straight and stepped forward.

“No Khajiit in the city unless you have your papers in order,” he stated.

“Would you deny entrance to a Companion?” Oshana said back, showing him the Circle pendant. He studied it carefully for a moment then nodded.

“Apologies, Companion, go on through,” he stated. Leading their horses they passed under the gate to cross the bridge. All across the structure bundled-up people were in the process of using magic to melt and evaporate the ice away with magic, both from hands and from wands. It was slick still so they watched their steps.

“So what was that about?” Johanna asked Oshana.

“The guard?” Oshana said back. Jo nodded. Oshana continued, “In some cities Khajiit are not trusted. We are famous sneaks... and infamous thieves.”

“That's a shitty stereotype,” Johanna remarked.

“It's rather true,” Bastet stated. “We're gifted with light feet and silent steps, so we use it to our advantage.”

“Yeah, but you're not all thieves!” Jo said.

“No,” Bastet said with a shrug. “Bastet is truly no thief.”

“Well yeah, I believe you,” Jo told her.

“You must, Bastet swears it,” Bastet went on, a smile creeping on her face. One shared with the other sisters. Jo stared at them in confusion.

“I... uh...” she uttered.

“Oshana has never committed a crime in her life,” the charcoal cat spoke up. “Sometimes people just get... confused. Sometimes they claim that things that are in this one's pockets belong to them. But it's surely not possible, this one has always had such things.”

“Wait, seriously?” Jo said, an unsure smile on her face. “You guys are just pulling my leg.”

“I think they're pulling more than that,” Hugh said suddenly, coming up beside Oshana and shoving his hand in her pocket.

“Hey!” she hissed, but he had already gotten what he was looking for, showing it to Jo.

“What the shit!” she blurted out when she saw her iPhone was in his hand.

“Err, Khajiit is unsure how that got there!” Oshana said with faux nervousness in her voice, but her eyes were playful.

“Khajiit is often unsure how many things come to be in her possession,” Bastet added.

“How the hell did you do that?” Johanna said as she took her phone back.

“Do what?”

“You- ah forget it, smart ass...” Jo muttered as she put her phone back.

“It actually might be a good idea to put that in a more secure place,” Jasi said. “Every city has its pickpockets, especially in times of war and poverty.” Jo thought for a moment then replaced the phone in an inner breast pocket of her jacket.

They at last reached the city gate. Dark stone towered over them, blasted by millennia of frigid wind and ice, faces of ancient Nords carved in the walls. The gate itself was a great iron behemoth, now pulled open during the busy morning, citizens entering mostly. Men and women living in the homes that made up the outskirts of the city. The daily commute.

Hugh smiled at the familiar site of Candlehearth Hall, the building appearing almost the same in his memory, but with three stories and a wider berth. But everything else was vastly different. For one, this city had skyscrapers! Obviously not like the ones he knew in Toronto, but tall Nordic stone structures reaching as high as seven stories. It was hard to tell from the group's place in the lower streets, but Hugh had to judge that the city space took up around two hundred acres, give or take. Straight ahead beyond Candlehearth and some other buildings the ground rose, stairs built upon the slope that ascended over the lower city. Atop it—surrounded by even more walls—was the Palace of the Kings.

“So damn cool...” Johanna breathed as she looked around at the sights around her. Children ran between adults, and the men and women—mostly Nords and Dunmer—watched the Khajiit with suspicion. Some outright derision, a Dunmer woman going as far as to spit at Jasi's feet. She ignored it and brushed by the dark elf.

“The hell was that?” Johanna asked, eyes wide.

“Dunmer and beastfolk have a... complicated history,” Bastet said. “Namely slavery and genocide.”

“Jesus Christ...”

“Yes, it's not just the Nords we have to worry about here,” Bastet explained.

“That's not all still going on... is it?” Jo asked.

“Fortunately not. Well, not on the scale it used to,” Jasi said. “Slavery was ruled illegal by the Empire long ago, but there's still a strong underground trafficking system from Morrowind to the fringes of Elsweyr. The trouble with Dunmer is that they live far longer than beastkin and men, as do their memories. We have no memories of slavery ourselves, but many here still do... and they remember the retaliation of Khajiit and Argonians.”

Jo didn't make any more remarks. She silently digested the new information as they crossed through Windhelm. Hugh guessed that there was a northern gate that allowed travelers to cut through the city to reach Winterhold. Better than vidya game Windhelm, for sure.

Their trek through Windhelm was uneventful, as was the climb up the northern slopes to reach their destination. It took them another two-and-a-half hours to come into sight of the ruined town of Winterhold.

Johanna said, “That was actually pretty easy. I'm surprised nothing jumped us, like, fifty times.”

“Yeah, that's video game logic that literally every animal under the sun charges straight for a group of armed people,” Hugh said.

“But it is quite fortunate we were not set upon by bandits,” Jasi said. “The war has made them more brazen _and_ plentiful. Displaced citizens and deserters feel forced to have to walk such a path in order to survive.”

The group dismounted their horses when they came to the town line. The snow-swept road wound through rows of buildings. Most of them were abandoned, and up ahead before the College the cliff side dropped suddenly, old wreckage of homes crumbled around it.

“What happened here?” Jo whispered as they passed a group of men sitting on the porch of the inn. Four of them were seated around an iron fire pit, bundled up in furs and smoking pipes. All of them stared the group down, their eyes mainly on Jasi... and not just because she was a Cathay-raht.

“Long ago this town was much larger, and quite prosperous,” Jasi told her quietly as they inched closer to the bridge leading to the College. “A disaster struck it, however. It came swiftly and without warning: the mountainside crumbled into the Sea of Ghosts, taking hundreds of lives and uncountable septims of damage. See there...” Jasi pointed to the college. The lofty dark building was seated on a rocky pillar climbing over the sheer drop, ethereal pylons of blue light rushing into the cloudy skies across the bridge, and one rising over the walls surrounding the College's courtyard. “The ground used to climb right up to the cliffs of which the College sits.”

“God!” Jo exclaimed. Jasi nodded somberly.

“The college and bridge almost fell with the rest of Winterhold, but it held. Many of the locals—once celebrating the existence of the College—have grown to resent it merely for the fact that is survived when nearly everything else didn't. Some even blame the mages for the disaster, but I find them to be baseless accusations. Some experiments may be... questionable, but hardly life-threatening to anyone outside the College. Or capable of such wanton destruction.”

“Hm...” Johanna said thoughtfully. She was silent for a moment, then said, “Wait, life-threatening _outside_ the College only?”

“Johanna, when we enter, you should... hm, well, just don't wander off.”

“Heh, well, I wasn't going to before, and I sure as hell aren't now.”

 

**: : : : : :**

 

The College's courtyard was wide and full of life. Overhead a barely discernible 'ceiling' of magical energy warbled mutely, deterring the frigid winds and keeping warmth inside the courtyard. It was rather pleasant. The statue of the unnamed mage stood before the magicka font, his chiseled features and eternally frozen flowing robes hued blue by the soft glow of the pylon rising from the mystical waters. Surrounding the statue and fountain were stalls kept by College staff, men and women dressed in blue and gray long robes with the College's seal woven into the fabric on their chests. Hugh espied Mirabelle striding through the packs of students and other faculty, donned in professor's robes colored brightly with crimson, gold and navy blue. She had a specific seal stitched on both shoulders probably denoting her status.

Her eyes caught the company immediately. Jasi didn't exactly mix well with the crowd. Mirabelle stepped up to them, eyeing Jasi's company warily.

“Gs'ari,” she said to Jasi, “these are your sisters I gather?”

“Indeed they are,” Jasi said back. “Bastet and Oshana. I'd also like you to meet Hogarth and Johanna. They helped my sisters during their treks in the wild.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Mirabelle said to them, but more in a businesslike way than a friendly one. “Normally I'm not keen on having non-students on premises, but I've found Jasi to be trustworthy. I just ask you to not interfere with in the business of students and faculty, nor tamper with any tools. Am I clear?”

“We had no such intentions,” Oshana said back, making it clear in her tone she didn't like being talked down to, but Mirabelle only cared for the answer.

“Then welcome to the College,” she said. “So, Jasi, are you returning or only passing through?”

“Passing through, Master-Wizard,” Jasi said back. “It seems my sisters and I have a long road ahead of ourselves. And not a particularly easy one, unfortunately.”

“That's too bad,” Mirabelle said, sounding genuine in that statement. “I assume you are here to gather your possessions.”

“Yes, but I also would like to ask a favor of you.”

“Oh?” Mirabelle said, looking interested. “What would you ask of me?”

“Our trek is going to lead us into a Dwemer city, and we need the counsel of Septimus.”

“Septimus? Really?” Mirabelle asked, getting more intrigued by the moment as she folded her arms over her chest, one hand stroking her chin thoughtfully. “It must be quite an expedition if you need _his_ help. Very well. I'll arrange Tobus to ferry you to Septimus's encampment. He'll be ready for you when you climb down to the water.”

“That's good, thank you, Master-Wizard,” Jasi said.

“Don't mention it. And good luck on your expedition. Be careful, too. Jasi told me of your raids into Anequinian tombs and Aylied ruins,” Mirabelle said to Bastet and Oshana. “I don't know how dangerous those were, but Dwemer cities are some of the most treacherous ruins in all of Tamriel. Traps, automatons, and not to mention the Falmer. They're cruel wretches, and quite frankly it would be better to die at their hands than be captured.”

“Wow, that's sweet of you...” Johanna muttered.

“Well it's true, girl,” Mirabelle said back. “I've witnessed Falmer torture after the fact, and it makes the Thalmor Justicars look like S and M whores.”

Hugh nearly burst out at that, then thought to himself, _God I need to grow up._

“We've all heard the tales,” Bastet said. “Do you recommend anything else?”

“Hmm... shock enchanted maces, for the automatons. You'll need something heavy to crush their shells and an element that short-circuits their energy supply. In fact I can offer all of you some dwemer maces. Fight fire with fire as they say.”

“I don't need one, thanks,” Jo said to her.

“Alright. I have some other dwemer weapons as alternatives. I note you're all carrying blades.”

“I'm better suited with a blade,” Oshana told her.

“I can handle a mace,” Bastet said next.

“Sure, I'll take a mace,” said Hugh with a shrug.

“I'll have Tobus ready with your equipment, then,” Mirabelle said. “I do hope you'll come back eventually, Gs'ari. I might just make you a professor with how well you handle yourself,” she told her with a smile.

“You flatter me, Master-Wizard. I'm only here to learn, but thank you nonetheless.”

“In case I don't run into you again, take care and be safe in those ruins.”

“You take care as well,” Jasi said back. With a final nod Mirabelle turned and strode for the gates leading into the college's center.

“Professor, huh?” Bastet said. “We got enough of your lectures back at home, no need to make others suffer the same fate.”

“The difference between you two and the students here is that they actually have brains connected to their ears,” Jasi sniffed back, turning curtly, making her way to the student dormitories. She took a few moments to gather a few more things. Extra scrolls and soul gems for Johanna's ever growing arsenal of sealed magic, some enchanted jewelry designed to boost resistance to elemental hazards, and an old, fat journal; aged but not tattered. Jasi took very good care of the thing it looked. It actually struck Hugh with an idea.

“Hey, Jasi, you wouldn't happen to have an extra blank journal, would you?” he asked.

“Why yes,” she said, digging through the drawers of her desk and pulling a fresh one out along with a fountain pen. She handed them to Hugh. “For posterity I assume.”

“Mmm, sure. That and nudies.”

“So we do have some common ground,” Jasi said back with a smirk as she shoved her journal in a satchel strapped to her hip. Hugh snickered then nudged Oshana.

“Both your sisters have already hit on me, you're it. But take your time, come up with a real zinger.” She only leveled a sneer of contempt at him and ignored her sisters' mirth.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

They clamored down a long length of stone steps that scaled the cliffs of Winterhold, clinging to a railing for dear life in case their feet slipped on the treacherous stairs. Staves with crystalline heads were fixed into the stone adjacent to the stairway, glowing a luminous silver. They reminded Hugh of the crystals of Aylied ruins... hell, they were probably the same thing now that he thought about it. Just with the AAA poly count of real life.

They were close to the bottom. Below they heard the rough lapping of fat waves on the rugged shore, and they saw a stone dock jutting into the dark waters. To Hugh's amazement a metal boat bobbed aside the dock. Dwemer metal to be precise. It looked like a landing vessel similar to the ones used in World War Two on D-Day, but with the telltale golden-copper color and ornate engravings of the Deep Mer. An engine powered by a dynocore was idle on the stern of the boat. A seat was fixed against the engine along with a steering wheel, and on that seat a hunched figure clad in fur robes sat. He had his hands cupped under his chest, which glowed softly. As they got closer they saw the man was keeping warm with magical fire between his palms.

Ice crunched under their feet as they scaled the dock, rousing the man. He was a pale Imperial with gray eyes and brown messy hair spilling from under his hood over his forehead.

“Hullo again, Miss Gs'ari,” he said to Jasi with a smile.

“Tobus,” she greeted back. “How does it?”

He shrugged. “Cold and windy. No idea why you want to see the old coot.”

“Come now, he was the one who discovered the blueprints for this ship, give the loon some credit,” Jasi shot back with a grin as she put a long leg over the side of the ship and stepped onto the deck.

“It _is_ a nice thing, this,” he conceded, twisting in his seat to press a switch behind him. The dynomo core whined with energy and from within the metal case gears whirred noisily. “Literally the difference between life and death compared to those wretched rowboats.”

The rest climbed in and took seats on the benches along the port and starboard. When they were settled in Tobus took his place behind the wheel.

“Hold on to your hats,” he said and pushed a throttle beside the wheel. The engine whirred and the boat took off, easily break and pushing hunks of ice floating in the salty sea. Up ahead they could see the distant light that marked Septimus's outpost.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

They all held to the railing as the boat gently nudged into the permafrost of Septimus’s outpost, causing it to rock somewhat. Jasi stood and easily was able to reach the glacier’s docking posts and threw the nooses around them. When the boat was secured the group climbed out, leaving Tobus to start another fire spell to keep himself warm. They came to the small hatch in the ice and pried it open. A ladder descended into the icy blue interior, which they all climbed down (Jasi barely fit and the ladder groaned in alarm under her weight).

“You sure you should be climbing on this old thing?” Hugh asked, directly below the Cathay-Raht and justifiably nervous as the wooden struts bowed somewhat under her boots.

“I can fix it if it breaks.”

“But can you fix _me?_ ”

“Yes.”

Hugh huffed indignantly. “Hurry up down there!” he called below.

“Ah, hold on, I’ve got a splinter!” Bastet said playfully as she stopped and started fidgeting with the palm of her hand.

“You know you’re gonna be at the bottom of the pile, right?”

Bastet only snickered in response, resuming her climb down. Their feet met the icy floor, having been sprinkled with gravel to provide traction. Still they carefully followed the twisting decline down the chilly cavern. Soon they came to the warm glow of candle and fire light reflecting off the glossy walls. They looked below and marveled at the enormous artifact lodged in the ice. The Dwemer lockbox shined bronze in the light, and standing before it muttering to himself was the old madman himself. Septimus paid no heed to the company as they came to the bottom. He only grumbled at the vault and occasionally leaned toward his desk where an old book sat open.

“Septimus,” Jasi called, catching his attention. He looked to her, but not in surprise. But not as if he was expecting them, either. Just a man who was too busy being obsessive to be surprised by things.

“Yes, that is my name, as Septimus needs to remind himself in order to remember it.”

“We hear you’re looking for an Elder Scroll,” Bastet stated, cutting to the chase.

“Looking for one? No. As fascinating having one would be, Septimus is more interested in the contents of this vault! But for that he needs a transcribed lexicon. He has a lexicon, but not one transcribed. But… using one to find an Elder Scroll would certainly give Septimus what he needs!”

Suddenly he about faced them and lunged for a wardrobe. They watched as he rummaged through it for a few moments before turning back to them with a toothy grin. He held the glowing runed cube in both hands as if it were a holy talisman. To him it probably was.

“You need an Elder Scroll, and I need this transcribed. Septimus thinks we can help each other,” he said, handing it to Bastet, who looked mildly surprised to find it was that easy to get from the old man. She nodded to him.

“I will return this when I can,” said she.

“Ah! I’ve never felt so close to my goal as I do now!” he proclaimed gleefully. “You all look capable, this should take no time!” He about faced again and hunched over his desk. “You should be off now! There’s no time to waste!” He said nothing else as he sunk into a seat, poring over the books and parchments spread across his desk. Bastet turned to the others and shrugged, then lead the way to the surface again.

“I guess the easy part is over,” Oshana remarked.

“Aw yeah,” Hugh returned.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

They took the boat up the coast, landing as close to Alftand as they could. From their landing spot the company hiked the rest of the way up the steep snowy slopes, the drone of the Dwemer boat fading in the distance as it returned to the College. It was nearly dark by the time they came to the ruins of the Dwemer city, its stone and bronze towers jutting out of the snow and ice. Strewn across the keeps were walkways and bridges built by the previous explorers, leading to the entrance.

“You said there are still some people alive from this expedition?” Bastet asked Hugh.

“Two I remember,” he said back. “Well, one. A Khajiit tweaking out on skooma.”

“Ugh, great,” Oshana hissed. “Another skooma raddled backstabber I need to deal with.”

“What do you mean ‘another?’” Jasi asked her.

“Nothing,” Oshana said back. Jasi was obviously not satisfied with that answer (nor was Bastet) but she let it go for the time being.

“So what about him?” Bastet pressed as they trudged up the slope around the ruins, aiming to make camp in the leftover dwellings of the expedition.

“Not much. Guy is just hallucinating and might try to attack us. Hell, at this point he might even be dead.”

“If we’re lucky,” Oshana muttered. Bastet noted that response but said nothing.

They came to the old campsite. Unlike the shacks in the game the ones here were still whole and had perfectly good steel chimneys poking through the roofs. They entered one. It was a sparse building, the furniture comprising of some dressers, bunk beds, and chairs seated around a black potbelly stove sitting against the wall.

After a few minutes a fire was built by Jasi as the rest explored the camp and managed to find the food stores, still in good condition, so no need to waste their own provisions for the night. Hugh volunteered to cook up a venison stew, knowing that Bastet and Jasi wanted to ask Oshana about her sudden adversity to skooma addicts. Well, a stronger adversity than before, anyway.

As Hugh was bent over the stove, stirring the pot and throwing ingredients into it, the ladies took their seats around the warmth. Johanna could detect the coming discussion (well, possibly shouting match by the look on Oshana’s face) and sat closer to Hugh than the sisters. He did his best to appear like he was focused completely on his cooking.

Bastet began the talk. “Oshana, what was that earlier about skooma addicts?”

“Not something I want to talk about,” she replied lowly… warned, really. But neither Bastet nor Jasi were taking that.

“Well, we all have to do things we don’t like, so explain yourself,” Jasi snapped. It seemed she still had her way with being the tough big sister. Oshana sighed, bowing her head and massaging her temples with her knuckles. After a moment she slouched in her seat, staring at the floor.

“Not long after I arrived in Skyrim I went looking for some jobs. Extra coin to get me to Whiterun so I could join the Companions. I had entered Skyrim through the Rift’s border checkpoint, so I was staying in Riften… well, some Khajiit caravaneers outside the city were kind enough to let me stay with them while they were selling outside town. At the time Riften was barring Khajiit from entry. Anyway, I was thinking of joining the caravan for a while as a guard until I reached Whiterun, but one morning I was approached by some nobleman offering me a job. He was trying to find mercenaries willing to assassinate his brother, some scoundrel of a lord named Dupan.”

“Fuck!” Hugh hissed suddenly. They glanced at him to see he had burned his finger, then continued their discussion. Unbeknownst to them Hugh was floored by what he had just heard…

“Never took you for an assassin,” Jasi said disapprovingly.

“Like I said, this Dupan character was an abusive, greedy bastard, so I was doing the world a favor accepting the job… and the coin was good, too. _Really_ good. The prospect of that much money made me briefly reconsider joining the Companions, at least for a while.

“At any rate, the nobleman said I would have to split the reward with another man he had hired previously, but I accepted the offer. Even half of it was a good payday. Altogether ten thousand septims, so five for each of us.”

“Is this where the skooma addict comes into play?” Bastet asked, she and Jasi starting to piece things together.

“Yes,” Oshana sighed, regretful now. She hunched in her seat, clasping her hands between her legs. “You know I actually liked him, started to consider him a friend. Was even thinking of inviting him to come and join the Companions with me if he wanted. See, it was a good trek from Riften to Dupan’s manor, and I got to see he was a capable warrior during a run-in with some bandits on the way. Excellent with a bow in particular, but no slouch with a sword either.” She chuckled. “He was an odd, one, too. He was Khajiit, but had blue fur-”

“You can’t be fucking serious!” Hugh shouted out of nowhere, making them jump. He had whirled around, dropping the wooden spoon the floor, spattering droplets of stew on the ground and some on his boot. Oshana stared at him in disbelief.

“What are you… do you _know_ about Inigo?” she demanded. Her shock swiftly turned into fury. She launched herself from the seat straight into a stunned Hugh, grabbing him by the breast of his shirt. She slammed him into the wall, making Johanna yelp and her sisters jump up and shout at her.

“ _You’re not supposed to know anything about me!_ ” she bellowed. “ _I’m not some ‘official character’ in your_ _ **bullshit**_ _world! How the fuck would you know about me and Inigo?!_ ”

“I _don’t!_ Get the fuck off me!” Hugh snarled back, shoving her back, her unsheathed claws tearing his shirt and haphazardly scratching his skin.

“ _Stop!_ ” Bastet hollered, getting between them.

Hugh went on, “I haven’t been hiding a _goddamn_ thing from _any_ of you! I’m shocked about Inigo because he _isn’t_ supposed to be real!”

“What in the god’s names are you talking about!?” Oshana shouted.

“ _STOP!_ ” Bastet bellowed, silencing the two of them. “Sit down, Oshana,” Bastet ordered, her sister begrudgingly doing so. Bastet turned back to Hugh, fished a cloth from her pocket, and gave it to him so he could cover his bleeding cuts.

“Just explain everything that you can, Hugh,” she told him, looking suspicious herself. He pulled up a chair and took a seat for himself.

“Inigo…” he began, his voice quivering slightly, “he’s…” He sighed and rubbed his forehead with the ball of his hand. After a moment he looked up at the others. “Okay… there are these things called ‘mods,’ or ‘modifications’ for Game Skyrim. User created things, not part of the… ‘official’ lore of the game. So if I wanted I could use the Creation Kit to add… I dunno, an AK-47 to the world. Something that shouldn’t belong. People can make ‘lore friendly’ ones that aren’t actually part of the world, but seem like they could be.

“Anyway, the popular mods are usually follower ones. They add new characters… and, well, Inigo is… is _supposed_ to be an unofficial character. But apparently he’s real, now. That’s why I know him, because I downloaded him from the goddamn Nexus.” He went quiet, staring at the floor while everyone else tried to digest what they had just heard.

“Shit…” he whispered when he saw the stew was boiling out of control. He snatched up the spoon from the floor, wiped it on his pant leg and stirred, tossing in some vegetables that hadn’t been added. At least he had a chore to distract him from the uncomfortable situation... somewhat.

While he cooked Oshana fidgeted with her hands. Muttering something in the Khajiiti tongue, she got to her feet and went for her bunk. She didn’t say anything after kicking off her boots and climbing under the fur blankets.

Not a word was spoken after that, other than thanks to Hugh for serving dinner and “Pass the salt.” Dinner was eaten, clothes were shed for sleep, and candles were blown out for the night.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

Hugh stepped out into the morning light, having gotten up just a bit earlier than everyone else to dress into his scale armor. He stood on the stoop of the shack, looking over the Sea of Ghosts as the rising sun washed the land and ocean with golden brilliance. He put a cigarette between his lips and lit up, letting the terrible yet oh-so-good nicotine smog fill his lungs and numb his stress temporarily Jesus Christ, he was gonna end up puking out his tar-stained lungs before he managed to get home. He looked over his shoulder when the door opened behind him. Oshana stepped through the doorway, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the morning breeze that swept across the tundra.

“How are those cuts?” she asked quietly as she stood beside him.

“Scabbed over, they’re fine.”

They were silent for a while, both watching the sea ripple toward them from the horizon beyond, where frozen Atmora lay beyond.

“We’re almost ready,” Oshana spoke up, then nudged him with her elbow. He looked and saw she had brought one of the Dwemer shock maces out with her. She handed it over to him.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” she tried to joke lightly, giving him a friendly smile (she hoped it looked friendly anyway). Eh, it was a bit forced, but he appreciated the gesture and returned one.

“You know I failed electrical in vocational school,” he joked back. She got it part way and chuckled, then turned back and re-entered the shack. The door clicked shut and he turned back again, studying the mace as his cigarette smoldered, a trail of smoke snaking into the air and being carried away by the northern wind. The head of the mace whined with power, not unlike a transformer at the top of a telephone pole. Against his better judgment he pulled off a gauntlet and tentatively inched a finger toward the head. He could feel the energy radiating from the weapon with his hand only a few inches from the mace. It crackled and shocked him suddenly, making him jump and curse, snatching his hand back. He then laughed at himself, hanging it from a sling in his hip. It bounced against his leg and gave it a tingly sensation, but didn’t hurt. He imagined actually striking something made the enchantment trigger and discharge lethal electricity.

As he put his gauntlet back on, the door opened and Bastet stepped through first. Her cool blue eyes studied him, unreadable as Oshana's.

“Ready, Hugh?” she asked.

“Dah.” He walked down the steps and let her take the lead. They lined down the precarious bridges and catwalks built over Alftand’s keeps, coming to the golden-copper entry. They stopped before it, staring up at the carved door.

“Everyone ready?” Bastet said. She had her mace in hand, along with Hugh and Oshana. Jasi cast Ebonyflesh over her glass robes and raised a shock staff. Johanna carried two staves: one shock and the other a healing one.

“Is tea time, doktore,” Hugh said to Jo.

She returned a toothy grin. “My ultimate is charging,” she said back.

“Wait, what-.”

“You’ll see.”

“Damn, I’m hyped now.”

Jasi sighed. “This is not a game, the two of you. I have entrusted Johanna with a Dragon Aspect scroll.”

“A what?” Oshana asked.

“In ancient days the Nord Tongues would use words of power to boost their strength, sturdiness, even their ensuing Shouts with the Dragon Aspect Thu’um. I created the scrolls myself and based the concept off of that. Not as powerful as a Shout—yet—and of course I have yet to increase the power one’s Voice with a simple scroll, but it should give us a huge advantage if we find ourselves in a bind. Once cast on one of us it will automatically imbue its target with added strength, speed, and Ebonyflesh. I have some extra scrolls myself, and as I said I have entrusted Johanna with one… it remains to be seen if I made a wise decision.”

“Oh I was joking with Hugh,” Johanna shot back, “I won’t waste it, trust me.”

“I _am_. That’s why I’m making sure,” Jasi returned coolly.

“So are we ready or what?” Oshana said impatiently.

“You’re as bad as the girl,” Jasi told Oshana.

“Ugh…” Bastet grunted as the two continued going back and forth. “ **FUS RO DAH!** ” she bellowed. A wave of energy escaped her mouth and slammed into the doors, throwing them open. The act had spooked the lot of them, hilariously making Oshana’s and Jasi’s tails puff up. Bastet stomped ahead silently, not waiting for them.

 


	11. Chapter 10 - Seed of Memory

Chapter Ten

Seed of Memory

 

They crept carefully through the dark corridors of the Dwemer ruins, a shining orb of yellow mage light hovering overhead courtesy of Jasi. In the dark they heard the grinding of gears and the hissing of steam. They heard, too, the clinking of metal legs on stone floor, and movement was barely visible beyond their light. Everyone kept their weapons ready. Mace, magic, and staff.

Strewn across the floor were tools and gear left behind by the certainly-now-dead expedition crew. Pickaxes, shovels, crates and the like. Then they came across their first dead body. A silver-furred Khajiit man, laying on his back with a scorched crater in his chest. His yellow eyes were wide and glazed, his final expression shocked, for lack a of a better term... as the cause of death was clearly a lightning bolt to the heart. Hugh recognized the poor guy, actually.

“Guess we don't have to worry about him sneaking up on us,” he muttered.

“The skooma addict?” Oshana asked.

“Yeah.”

“I'm certain a Dwemer spider did this,” Jasi said. “We need to take care. The closer intruders are to the inner depths of a Dwemer city the more likely they are to attack.”

“I'm surprised the ones scuttling about outside our vision haven't jumped us,” Bastet said, “Especially after these people riling them up.”

The universe heard Bastet. And the universe replied.

Hugh heard it first. A clank beside his head, above on a fat bronze pipe following the wall to his left. Before he had a chance to look he was nearly knocked off his feet when a heavy, writhing metallic object latched itself onto his back. Its cold metal legs locked on, attempting to crush him, then a sharp and brilliant pain erupted into his shoulder. He screamed some expletives and fell to his knees, barely hearing the others shout in alarm.

“Sorry, Hugh but this is going to hurt!” he heard Jasi cry, then a loud crack filled his ears. Energy jolted through every cell in his body and he fell against the wall, shuddering uncontrollably. He barely noticed as Bastet came into view with a mace over her head. She brought it down beside Hugh onto the Dwemer spider, causing another burst of blue sparks that made him flinch. It stopped moving after that and Hugh let out a shaky breath. Bastet's face came into view, a look of concern on her. Her mouth opened and she said something, but Hugh realized a ringing in his ears was blocking off all sound around him.

“ _Hugh!_ ” she said louder and he rubbed his ears in frustration. “ _Are you okay?!_ ”

“Yeah!” he shouted back, unaware that he didn't need to as he was the only one with messed up hearing. Johanna tapped Bastet's shoulder to get her attention, then gave the Khajiit a scroll. A small healing one. Bastet held it palm up. The scroll vibrated then shriveled in a mini implosion that gave birth to the comforting glow of healing magic. Then on its own the light washed over Hugh, seeping into his body. He sighed in relief when his quivering and muscle spasms subsided. His hearing returned to normal and the sharp pain in his shoulder numbed somewhat.

“Better?” Bastet asked, taking his arm and helping him up.

“Mos def,” he replied, stretching his muscles; only a little sore now. “Well, better to get the pouncing monster routine done sooner instead of later.”

Bastet smirked with a dry chuckle. “Thankfully it only landed on your back. We'd be mopping your brains off the floor if it had gotten to your head.”

“Ugh...” Johanna muttered. “Why'd you have to say that?”

“Oh...” Hugh said, snapping his fingers. “I had something for this!” he exclaimed, wracking his brain. After a moment of trying to remember the phrase he grunted. “It's gone, shit. Ah well, let's just get this over with.”

The sentiment agreed upon, Bastet took the lead again. Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls. The further they went down to the deep, the more spiders came out of the bronze-work. They were fairly easy to dispatch, mostly by Jasi's lightning-infused hands. It made more sense to let her use small amounts of rechargeable magicka and save the warriors' (and Hugh's) energy for the harder battles to come. Johanna chipped in when spheres started to be thrown into the mix, but soon signs of Falmer started to appear. Their leather and chaurus-exoskeleton constructs marked the beginning of their territory, but so far none were seen... didn't mean they weren't there, though.

Hugh switched to his crossbow when they came across a larger Falmer settlement. Oshana put her hand on Bastet's shoulder and signaled her to stop along with the others.

“I've once dealt with these blind freaks before,” she whispered. “Stay here, let me take care of them. You'll know when to come help if you hear any hissing and garbled chokes.” She quietly slunk into the dimness beyond the magelight, swapping her mace for a Skyforge steel shortsword. They waited for a few tense minutes. Every now and again they thought they heard sounds of struggle, but it would quiet down almost as soon as it started. Four minutes maybe passed before they heard a whistle. They moved into a cavernous room filled with tall fences and ramparts, dimly illuminated by the faded but still shining Dwemer magelamps. At the opposite end of the chamber a wide flight of stairs rose to one of the brass doors. There Oshana stood waiting for them, her eyes glowing a bright yellow as they reflected Jasi's magelight. Her round pupils shrunk to ovals as they approached with the light.

“It's no trip to the park to sneak around Falmer like that,” Jasi remarked, a small smile of pride on her muzzle.

“It is with them,” she said, jerking her head at one corpse of the shirtless mutated Snow Elves. “I imagine those higher on the totem pole dwell beyond,” she continued, looking up at the lofty door.

“Falmer hierarchy is based on two things: ruthlessness and magery,” Jasi said as she stepped up to the door, looking up at it along with Oshana.

“Well,” Bastet spoke up, “The power of the Thu'um is a form of magic, and you both know how I get when I'm stuck in a humid, freezing, claustrophobic hole. They would welcome me as their Khajiiti Overlord if I planned on sparing them.” Bastet tried the door. Locked. Before Oshana could offer to pick the lock, Bastet drew back, quietly drawing in a breath, then let her thundering voice rend the doors asunder. They flew off their hinges with cranky clangs, tumbling over and crushing a few Falmer that had been in the way. The rest whirled around, snarling in alarm. Bastet hissed back and charged in, slapping her helmet over her head. Shoddy arrows sparked off her breastplate as her steel boots crunched the crumbling granite tiles below. Behind her Oshana slunk into the shadows, intending to flank. Jasi followed her headstrong sister with a ward billowing in front of her like an ethereal shield. Arrows disintegrated when they made contact with the magic, dust in the drafts as their intended target stomped forward. Hugh dropped to a knee, shouldered his crossbow, then popped one Falmer in the dome. The pale freak stumbled back soundlessly, a spurt of blood squelching from the wound. Before his partner could react a fireball from Jasi smacked him right in the chest, engulfing the rest of him in flames. Bastet swung her sword at a heavily armored foe. Her blade rattled against his head. Although the blow didn't do much harm the clash caused the wretch to reel, leaving Bastet an opportunity to drive the tip of her blade into his throat. Several other armored Falmer stalked behind Bastet's felled foe, but Oshana practically materialized from the shadows and sliced one's throat with her shortsword. Hugh—having reloaded his crossbow—took out the third one with a bolt that pierced straight through the chaurus armor to the heart.

The company paused, holding their breath as they looked around for any stragglers. They jumped when thunder clapped and lightning flashed. They looked to the source to see Johanna standing over one Falmer whose legs were crushed beneath the remains of the door. She had thrown a bolt into its charred chest with her stave. She looked to them, noting their puzzled expressions.

“What? He was squirming.”

“Should've left him to rot,” Oshana remarked, relaxing her stance along with the others.

“Come on, even a freak like him needed a little mercy,” Johanna said back.

“That leather armor he's wearing,” Bastet said, pointing to the thus clad Snow Elf abomination, “Human skin.”

“Uhhhhh...”

“Quite.”

“The more we kill the better,” Oshana said. “Let us press on.”

All of a sudden Hugh let out a shout. They turned in alarm, just to see him throw off another Dwemer spider then use his mace to bash it in the face.

“Fuckin’ spoderman,” he grunted, massaging his shoulder.

“Those things love you, Hugh,” Bastet said with a playful grin.

“‘Watch the headhumpers, Gordon!” he said suddenly, a finger in the air. “That was the thing I had for last time… when the first one, uh…” Johanna got it and smirked, but the sisters just glowered. “Yeah, let’s press on.”

Press on they did.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

A few more inches of Falmer blood spilt and they came to another set of doors, this pair more ornately carved, spattered with the remains of ancient paint reduced to nothing but faded flakes, barely clinging to the stained metal.

“This is telling,” Bastet said.

“What are we waiting for?” Jasi spoke, reaching out and pushing. This door was unlocked, its old hinges screeching groggily as the leopard Khajiit stepped forward, forcing the rusted door open with some strain. When it was open completely the others followed her in, sighing and gaping at the sight before them.

The floor was black and littered with hunks of granite whose color jumped out against the dark stone. The massive cavern was heavy with condensation, the moisture clinging to every surface which shone softly against the light of luminescent mushrooms and eerie deposits of geode. Neon blue flecks of light peppered the ceiling with vines of glowing creeper hanging down. Stone paths lead from different landmarks in Blackreach's landscape. Small Dwemer “sky”scrapers towered over the shaded cavern floor, the dim magelamps flickered with exhaustion on the walls. A fort-like structure was erected to the northeast of their position, hued yellow by a massive globe chandelier hanging over the walls and ramparts. And beyond the fort was the Tower of Mzark, jutting straight into the air and through the rocky ceiling, piercing far beyond the bedrock into Skyrim's frigid air.

“The Elder Scroll will be in the tower,” Jasi said. “Let's take care as we travel there, we're exposed in the cavern. The Falmer may be blind, but their pets aren't.”

After saying that was then Hugh noticed the unnerving clicking of massive insectoid legs stepping on rock in the distance, though it was impossible for him to tell where they were. Of course the sharp-eyed and eared Khajiit had far less trouble picking them out.

“Eugh! Making my skin crawl,” Johanna whispered, hugging herself to rub the gooseflesh away.

“I can lead us around as to not attract attention,” Oshana said. “Stay close to me. Jo, Hugh, you're both fine, but let's just hope our clodding giant leopard and metal Dragonborn don't give us away.”

“Joke's on you, sneak-thief,” Jasi said back smugly. She raised a hand, glowing with magic, and with a flick of the wrist a thin misty cloud fluttered from her hand, down her arm, body, and legs to settle around her boots. She cast the same spell on Bastet, and lo and behold! Their feet fell almost silently.

“Careful not to trip on your own bootstraps, fatfoot,” Bastet said teasingly to Oshana. She returned and indignant sneer and both Hugh and Johanna could tell there was a story behind that exchange. But first thing was first: the Scroll.

The company crept in the shadows of crevices and river banks, slowly but surely drawing closer to the tower. They heard but didn't see the chauruses that lurked in the shadows, and thankfully the beasts neither saw nor heard them.

The last leg of their journey was passing the brightly lit fortress/citadel. The good news was there were no more chaurus nearby. The bad news was the fort was manned by a slew of Falmer enslaved humans. And they weren't just a bunch of sad sods in shackles with a master whipping from behind. Judging by the marks on their bodies and the glazed looks in their eyes, they had been conditioned to tirelessly obey their masters by way of brutal torture. Mentally enslaved... not physically. A more difficult feat to perform, but one with long running benefits.

“Damn it!” Bastet hissed. “If we're spotted the whole gods damned cavern will be alerted and drawn straight to us.”

“Too bright for stealth, they'll spot me right away,” Oshana said lowly. “Jasi?”

“If I tried to cast invisibility on us all at once I will have exhausted all my magicka. It would take at least an hour to gain back a fraction of it. Not only that the duration for each of us would last no more than a few seconds.”

“This isn't good,” Bastet murmured. “We have two options: make a beeline straight for the tower and try to outrun any pursuers... or indeed fight off the whole cavern.”

“Both sound suicidal, but if we're quick the former would work most in our favor,” said Oshana.

“Ah! How about a mix of both!” Bastet piped up with a devilish grin. “We slay those weak wretches as quickly as possible then bolt for the tower-”

“ **DOOOVAAAHKIIIN...** ” a low thundering voice rumbled all of a sudden, making hair and fur stand on end. The slaves looked up above in stupefaction. The company followed their gaze. It was impossible to see anything beyond the glare of the orange globe, but what they heard was unmistakable: the beating of massive leathery wings echoed in the chamber. The gusts blown by them buffeted the fortress, kicking up millennia of dust in the air. The slaves cried out and scattered, retreating to the safety of the citadel's interior.

Bastet stood straight, ignoring her sisters' protests as the silver-gray Khajiit stepped up a rampart to meet the new arrival. The others tentatively followed her, stepping into the courtyard beneath the globe. The gusts grew stronger and suddenly the figure of a dragon descended from above the chandelier. He folded his wings as to not strike the confined interior of the courtyard. He plummeted to the ground and met the stone floor with a loud crash, his thick muscle-set legs absorbing the impact. His ivory spines stood out from his black hide, the dark scales peppered with spots of muted crimson. Dozens of horns crowned his head, sleekly leaning backwards over his skull. His eyes were dark as wine and he smelt strongly of leather and mildew. The dragon groaned as he stretched his neck and wings. Joints popped loud and wet like a sack of damp rocks being dropped on a stone floor. When he was done he fixed his gaze on Bastet. A look of curiosity and thoughtfulness creased his jagged features; a step up from the typical look of “crush, kill, destroy, swag,” most dragons sported.

“What is your name?” Bastet asked calmly, but her body was tensed slightly in case there was a sudden change in mood.

“Vurthulyol,” he rumbled back, blinking slowly as he took in the Khajiit. “Dovahkiin kaz,” he commented. “I ask your name now.”

“Bastet Gs'ari,” she said back. “My sisters, Oshana and Jasi, and my friends Hugh and Johanna.” He glanced briefly between them, but to him the main attraction was the Dovahkiin.

“I have been below in this city for many centuries, pogaan eruvos het... slumbering... waiting.”

“For?”

“Anything!” he exclaimed, then barked with unexpected laughter. “A Dovahkiin is as good a sign as any that once again the times have changed above. Fin lein meyz nu. Your presence is unmistakable, and can only mean Alduin himself has returned from his banishment.”

“I only have one very important question for you,” Bastet said, tightening her grip on her sword, “Does your allegiance lie with him?”

“Zu'u los dii! Alduin has no sway over me, Firstborn or not. Nay, I am not your hokoron, but neither am I fahdon... friend or foe. Perhaps time will tell if I will ally myself with you. I sense your suleyk, but it has yet to grow to its full potential.”

“Just don't go burning random villages for sport, otherwise you _will_ end up helping my power to grow,” Bastet warned. The dragon grinned, a fierce fanged grimace, but made no hostile movements.

“We shall see, Dovahkiin. We shall see.” With that he turned, hopped upon a wall, then launched himself into the air, his wings kicking up dust again. He roared energetically as he rose higher, disappearing into the darkness. After a few moments the sound of his wings and voice subsided and Blackreach was silent again.

Everyone let out a collective sigh of relief, save for Bastet, who had remained confidently cool throughout the exchange.

“Next time you think it’s a good idea to wag your tongue with a dragon, leave us out of it,” Jasi huffed. Bastet returned a mock look of innocence.

“You followed me. You didn't have to, you know.”

Unable to think of a response, Jasi huffed again and turned away, resting her hands on her hips as she overlooked the sea of dimness.

“So, Hugh, another one of your surprises?” Oshana asked in a disquieting casual tone.

“...um... he _supposed_ to only show up when-”

“I clod you on the head?”

“...no?”

Hugh grimaced when the hilt of Oshana's blade rattled his skullbones.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

The entrance chamber of Mzark was occupied by an _un_ occupied campsite. A long forgotten campfire and cooking spit sat in the center, adorned with sleeping bags and other trinkets. The group briefly perused the site for valuables, coming up with some jewelry and a few gemstones. They moved on through the tower 'til they came to the Oculory. A spiral ramp twisted around a large square pillar. The group followed it hastily, relieved their dungeon dive was almost over.

“This went better than I expected,” Jasi said almost cheerfully as they closed in on the top of the ramp.

“Don't jinx it,” Johanna said.

Jinx.

When they looked to the Oculory of the Elder Scroll... the device was off. As in: figured out and open. And where the Scroll so clearly should've been sitting was a big fat heap of absolutely nothing. They stared for uncountable moments, paralyzed and numb, barely breathing.

“What the fuck...” Hugh whispered. With that he had smacked the hornet's nest. Bastet hissed feraly and chucked her helmet at the Oculory. The steel armor piece slammed into the malachite glass of the construct with with a loud clang. It bounced off and skidded on the floor back towards her as she brought her hands to bury her face, breathing heavily. Jasi whispered Khajiiti profanities, pacing the room with a hunched back. Oshana turned straight to Hugh.

“So what now? Hm? Any more sage insight for saving our world from certain destruction? Perhaps you can tell us whether the Empire or Stormcloaks will win so we can cobble up some favor from the victors? Or maybe you can-”

During the tirade Hugh's blood began to boil. His fists clenched and he came dangerously close to popping the charcoal cat in her idiotic green eye. “ _Or_... maybe you can go fuck yourself sideways and stick your head in that container so I can close it on your neck.”

“You have a lot of nerve you arrogant fuck!” she spat back, getting in his face. “So far all you've accomplished is leading us to one travesty after another. You hide information and only bring it to light at the worst of times... at least it's only mostly bullshit! But of course the one thing of actual import is just another farce of yours-”

“Hey, lay off, he's not doing it on purpose!” Johanna interjected, stepping beside Hugh. “You think we're having fun with this or something? That goddamn Scroll might've been the only thing to help us get home!”

“Oshana, stop,” Jasi next spoke up tiredly. “I understand you're angry, but insulting him isn't making the situation any better.”

Oshana threw her hands up in defeat, turning away from Hugh and Johanna to look down at the floor. Bastet bent over to pick up her helmet as she muttered to herself, clutching it tightly in dread. What now? What the fuck could they do _now?_ That Scroll was the key to saving them all!

“Okay,” Jasi said calmly. “Listen, it didn't just up and disappear. Someone came here and opened the Oculory themselves, that means it's still out there.”

“You're right,” Bastet agreed, shaking off her despair. She knelt down and pointed at the floor. Footprints were clearly visible against the dust and grime that coated the rest of the floor. “These are somewhat fresh. Unfortunately whoever made these is not close enough to pursue, but it's a start.”

Jasi began to speak, but something moved behind her, in the doorway leading to the elevator that would lift them back to Skyrim. Hugh saw the figure first, but before he could call out the figure itself spoke first.

“ _Freeze!_ ” it bellowed. Everyone stood in place, holding their breath. Bastet and Jasi craned their heads back to see the man stepping into the light.

“What the shit!” Johanna breathed when he came into view.

He was a somewhat older man, in his late thirties. He was pale and had a long, hard face, pale gray eyes, and a number of scars. He was dressed in thick snow camo military fatigues, a patch of the Russian flag sewn on each shoulder. In his arms he held a VSS Vintorez rifle. The weapon's stock was possessed of smooth, dark wood, finished with a dull varnish. An integrated suppressor made up its barrel and it sported a medium-range scope. The man had the weapon rotated slightly on his shoulder counterclockwise so he could focus on them with an extra side-mounted reflex sight. Strapped to him was a myriad of gear: expensive looking military binoculars, a canteen, a Bowie knife's sheath strapped to his left breast, extra magazines for the Vintorez along with a Makarov sidearm on his hip, also outfitted with a suppressor. On his head was a light gray wool cap and a hood hung limp behind his neck.

“Face me and group together, slowly!” he barked. The company obliged, their hands raised as he cautiously drew in closer to study them. His expression was somewhat calm but with an underlying fear and disorientation. He was doing his best not to be overcome by his emotions.

“Hey, listen,” Hugh said.

“Quiet!” he ordered. He looked at the Khajiit more, trying to make sense of their very existence.

“I'd listen to him if I were you,” Bastet tried.

“I said shut up!” he snapped, tightening his grip on the rifle and raising it for emphasis. The group waited for him to make up his mind. After a few moments he turned his attention back to Hugh.

“American?” he asked.

“Canadian.”

“Agh, same difference.”

“Same to you, Sergeant Slav.”

“Do not give me lip, boy. Now I am going to ask you some questions and you will answer them simply as you can. I'll decide whether you will elaborate on a certain topic or not. Understand?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Good. First: where am I?”

“Skyrim.”

“Skyrim?” he repeated. His brow creased in anger. “Do not fuck with me, boy, that's some stupid American video game.”

“There's three Khajiit standing next to me. Khajiit are from Elsweyr. Elsweyr's in Tamriel. Skyrim is also in Tamriel. Which means that _yes_ , you are in Skyrim, Rootin' Tootin' Putin.”

“Hugh!” Johanna hissed at him, kicking him the leg

“Oh shut up!” he snarled back. “I've had it up to here with this shit show! And now we've got some Life of Boris motherfucker pointing a gun at us!”

“ _Enough!_ ” the Russian bellowed. Hugh begrudgingly kept silent. “How did you end up here? Describe it to me.”

“Okay... first, I saw a sabertooth lion.”

“Where?”

“The woods. I was hunting. That thing appeared and I shot it before it could maul me. Soon as I tried to head back to my cabin I was knocked down by some unnatural wind. It came down at me at a ninety degree angle, I went blind and deaf for a few moments, then I was in a completely different forest. Shenanigans ensued.”

Bastet couldn't contain a smirk and snort.

The Russian bit his lower lip, his brow furrowed in thought. After a few tense moments he lowered his weapon, allowing the others to lower their arms.

“So yeah, you wanna join our survival club? I'm hoping soon we'll have our own leather jackets with a logo I'm still working on,” Hugh said to him.

“So, what? You just follow around the... kahjeet?” the Russian asked.

“Khajiit,” Bastet corrected. “And yes, we have the advantage of being the 'heroes of the story.'”

Oshana rolled her eyes. “At least you can't provide misinformation,” she said to the Russian.

“I overheard,” he stated, pushing back his rifle so it hung behind him by its strap. “When you said 'destruction of world?'”

“It was no exaggeration,” Oshana said grimly.

“You're unlike Hugh and Johanna,” Bastet noted. “You're clearly a soldier.”

The Russian nodded. “I am Sergeant Maxim Sokolov, Russian Armed Forces.”

“So where were you when you got sucked into Tamriel?” Hugh asked. “And... how long ago?”

“Long ago? I've been here for... I want to say five or so minutes. I was disoriented and stay put for a little while to get my bearings, that's when I heard you enter and stayed to eavesdrop.

“As for how I was pulled here... I was in a restroom, washing up. Suddenly a fucking _wolf_ staggered out of the stalls, confused and pissed off. I kicked its head into the wall before it could pounce on me... then a wind like you described knocked me down.”

“So...” Hugh said thoughtfully, “With Johanna she saw a mudcrab before the wind came. So apparently whenever this happens to someone on Earth... a Tamrielic animal shows up. But why?”

“There's obviously a specific reason,” Jasi said, “But unless I have some solid understanding of how this traveling works, I can only assume. Perhaps... it is like an exchange? The only way to pull one of you from your world is to swap out a creature of ours?”

“That's oddly specific,” Bastet said.

“It's all I have,” Jasi said back with a shrug. “I am only familiar with teleportation across distances in just our world. Other _universes_ is something beyond me.”

“That's well and interesting,” Oshana interrupted sarcastically, “but how about we focus on not being devoured by an all-consuming demigod dragon?”

“When you put it like that... I'd rather live to see myself get home,” Maxim said. “Fine, if you two are together with them... I guess this is my one and only chance at it.”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

With a high pitched grind the gears of the Dwemer elevator halted. The platform out of Mzark had brought them to a keep-like structure on the snowy surface, its gates already open from the last person to use it. Whoever had the Elder Scroll.

They stepped into the crunchy snow, looking over the glaring slopes of white frost and the Sea of Ghosts beyond. The sky was clear and blue and the sun at its highest. They had made good time cutting through an entire ancient mechanical city. Maxim sighed, rubbing the side of his neck.

“I’d say I was dreaming if my balls weren’t freezing,” he muttered.

“Same,” Hugh said back. He looked to his right. A mile or two beyond he could just make out the ruins of Alftand in the snow. “Sheeeit. We could’ve just walked here and saved ourselves from fucking about down there.”

“Another astute observation by Hugh the All-Knowing,” Oshana taunted.

Hugh turned to give her an earful back, but Bastet came between them and said, “Oshana, you are _really_ not helping.”

“So you’re siding with him?”

“I am, as a matter of fact. He’s not at fault here, and he has already told us it’s unlikely he’ll be right all the time. Maybe try to offer something of substance instead of venom and derision. And if you can’t then close your gods damned mouth.”

Oshana looked away when Bastet was done, doing her best not to talk back. Bastet turned to Hugh next, her expression hard.

“Hugh, I suggest you really think carefully from now on. Don’t just tell us what you think you know, come up with possible differences. Even something as dramatic as a missing Elder Scroll, so we’re prepared for anything. I know it’s a lot to ask, but we’re _all_ being asked of a lot in these trying times. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he said back, nodding.

“Thank you. And try not to antagonize Oshana next time she loses her temper, it just makes her worse.”

“No guarantees if she keeps her shit up.”

“Hugh…”

“No, Bastet. I can understand her getting frustrated a few times, but it’s been a constant barrage of scorn and then seeming like she lets up. I’m liable to sock her in the eye someday.”

“Heh, wouldn’t be the first time…” Bastet said with a humorless chuckle. When she saw Hugh’s somewhat surprised reaction, she added, “But don’t take that as me being complacent. If you touch my sister just because she called you a few names, you’ll become a target to test my Thu’um.”

“Yeah? What if she throws the first punch? She was getting pretty close back down there.”

“Mmm… well, she asked for it, so I won’t get in the way if fists start flying.”

“Hey!” Jasi called, grabbing their attention. The rest had already begun the hike back to the College. “Come on, we haven’t got all day!”

They followed the rest of the company.

“All I’m trying to say is be… better than Oshana,” Bastet continued. “I love her, but she can be utterly insufferable, more so than Jasi in fact. At least Jasi acts her age.”

“Alright, alright,” Hugh sighed. “I got it, don’t feed the troll.”

Bastet laughed in response, a pleasant sound to hear after the last few hours. Hugh joined in.

“At last one of your sayings actually works here,” Bastet said with a grin.

“Don’t get used to it, the rest are going to sound like gibberish to you.”

“I know all too well.”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

They arrived back at Winterhold a few hours later, holding their fur cloaks close to their bodies over their armor. Maxim’s hood was up and he had a scarf over his face. Hugh doubted he could look anymore Cheeki Breeki than he did now. But his outfit stuck out like a sore thumb when guards and townsfolk turned to study the new arrivals.

“That some dwarven weapon on your back?” a guard asked Maxim of his rifle.

“Enclosed crossbow,” he said back, adjusting the Vintorez hanging off his shoulder. “Multiple rounds in quick succession. Good find all around.”

“That’s quite the accent,” the guard changed the subject. “You from some Cyrodiilic region?”

“Yeah,” Hugh butt in. “Metroslavakia, northeastish from Cheydinhal. Got its own little culture there.”

“Hmph. Interesting, haven’t heard of that one,” the guard said. “Then again the farthest south I go is Windhelm.” He looked to Jasi next.

“Keeping well, Miss Gs’ari?”

“I am, thank you.”

“Good, and thanks for clearing out that stench at the inn. Figures a mage would ruin the only good place in this rotten town… er, no offense.”

Jasi rolled her eyes and lead her companions toward the College bridge. After crossing it and turning to the Hall of Attainment they were at last in a warm and comforting room. The ‘real’ Hall of Attainment was wide and spacious. The familiar energy font sat in the center, of course, raising its pylon of magicka to the ceiling. The dormitory was round and sported many comfy seats, tables with chess and checkerboards, playing cards, food and drink, and other assorted items. Wooden doors lined the walls that wrapped around the room, no doubt private rooms.

It was still only afternoon and not many students were present. Those that were sat and silently read books or used the rooms put aside for alchemy and enchanting. Jasi stepped over to one couch and eased into it, sighing in relief as she unbuttoned her glass robes and threw her hood back. She reached behind her head and let her copper hair spill freely behind. Everyone else took seats near hers, undoing parts of their outfits. The company attracted inquisitive looks from the other students but they ignored them.

“Okay…” Oshana sighed. “What’s our next move? How do we go about this?”

“I think we may have to contact the Blades after all,” Bastet said. “If anyone is good at gathering intelligence, it’s them.”

“Before we go into this let’s make sure this Delphine person Hugh ‘knows’ about is actually in Skyrim,” Oshana said.

“I know she is, I saw her at Riverwood,” he said.

“I did, too, I just hadn’t been told who she was at the time,” Bastet added.

“Fine,” Oshana said, “But the only reason I’m trusting this is because you know about it, Bastet.”

“It’s still possible she might not be there now, or when we arrive,” Bastet said. “Although it might be unlikely. If she’s looking for me she’d stay in one place after making contact.”

“Excuse me for being a bit lost here,” Maxim spoke up, “But do you mind giving me a short summary?”

They did so, filling him in on Alduin, Bastet’s role as Dragonborn, and the use of the Elder Scroll on the Time Wound.

“As soon as we’ve ensured our safety we’ll do whatever we can to get you all home,” Bastet assured the man. He nodded.

“Yes… thank you. I should consider myself lucky that I managed to bump into this little group.”

“I count us lucky to have someone competent join,” Oshana told him.

“Oshana, you’re starting to piss _me_ off with your attitude,” Jasi growled at her.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Hugh said, patting Jasi on the shoulder. Oshana gave him a look of suspicion. “Obviously this is one of those situations where she has a crush on me, but because she’s too socially inept to express her feelings she resorts to meanness and abuse.”

“You… no, you can’t be serious,” Oshana said, shaking her head, but she looked more irritated than ever.

“You’re not my type. I only hook up with ladies who don’t constantly bleed out of their assholes.”

Oshana opened her mouth to retort, but nothing came out.

“Checkmate, atheists,” Hugh said triumphantly. Oshana sighed and leaned back in her chair.

“You only wish I thought you were even remotely fuckable.”

“That honor goes to Bastet,” Hugh said, throwing a smirk to the other sister.

“I think you’re looking into that little tease back in Ivarstead a bit too closely,” Bastet replied flatly.

“I find it odd how a human who lives in a world without Khajiit would want to sleep with one,” Jasi remarked.

“You’d be surprised, believe me,” Johanna said with a chuckle.

“I thought we were talking about getting this Scroll,” Maxim said pointedly.

“We were,” Bastet said with a sigh as she hauled herself from the couch to stand. “We decided to seek out Delphine. And now we’re all tired and just want to forget this day even happened. Jasi? Tell me where your room is, now, so I can get out of these tin cans.” Jasi silently pointed to her door and Bastet marched in to change to her day clothes. Everyone took turns (including Maxim so he wouldn’t raise any more questions) and soon they were all in fresh clothes and sitting around a table, having helped themselves to the dorm’s lunch buffet. Hugh and Jo joked about _Harry Potter_ when they plucked food from the silver platters, only to have whatever sweetroll or slaughterfish filet they grabbed be replaced by another out of thin air.

“Materialization is mighty useful,” Jasi said to them as they sat down. “I could create more bolts for your crossbow if you need, as long as you have one originem.... Something to copy off of, I mean.”

“Hell yeah!” Hugh said, slamming a fist on the table in triumph. “Not the crossbow, fuck that, you can copy up more rounds for my rifle. Hell, you can do that to Maxim’s ammo!”

“This is good news,” Maxim agreed. “Makes tactical decisions less difficult.”

“Then might I suggest always having originems of your ‘ammo’ in a safe place. Several, in fact.”

“Oh Jasi, you just made my day after all that shit earlier,” Hugh said with a grin, spearing forkful of hoarker meat with his fork and taking a hearty bite. “In fact, having an assault rifle just all around makes things a bit easier.”

“No way in hell you’re going to even touch my weapon, kid,” Maxim told him through a mouthful of buttered mashed potatoes.

“We’ll see, Strelok. We’ll see.”

“Jasi!” Bastet’s voice called from the buffet room. “Where’s the gods damned wine! Or ale or _something!_ ”

“They only serve that at dinner!” Jasi called back. A slew of Khajiiti curses spilled from the room, along with a slam that jolted the dinnerware. A voice behind Hugh snickered. He turned to see the old boy J’zargo sitting with Onmund at another table.

“What’d she say?” the Nord asked the Khajiit.

“Haha! Eheh.... Er, she said ‘fuck me with a cactus then turn me upside down and let a moonbeast shit down my cunt.’”

“Jesus Christ, really?!” Hugh exclaimed, turning in his seat to face J’zargo.

“Sst! You didn’t need to translate that, you mange!” Jasi hissed at the other Khajiit before he could answer.

“Your little sister has quite the vocabulary, Gs'ari,” J'zargo said back with a shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, that was pretty original, to be honest. And I've heard a lot,” Hugh said.

“J'zargo can't argue with that,” he agreed. He turned back to Jasi. “So, day didn't go well, J'zargo takes it. What were you off doing, anyway? And what do your sisters have to do with it? Go on, tell us!”

“You wouldn't believe me,” Jasi said back dryly, turning back to her meal. From the serving room Bastet finally emerged, a plate in one hand and a bottle of Argonian bloodwine in the other.

“How did...?” Jasi said to Bastet with surprise.

“Some Bosmer managed to force the kitchen's magic to spawn me a bottle of wine,” she said back, sitting down with them. “It was worth giving him a black soul gem.”

“So you only got some for yourself?” Oshana snapped.

“Yes, I did,” Bastet sneered back. “You want some so bad go talk to the Wood Elf.”

“Things _really_ did not go well, J'zargo sees.”

“Jasi, make your sidemeat shut his muzzle before I do it for him,” Oshana growled.

“‘Sidemeat?’ Does _J’zargo_ look like the kind of man I’d bed with?”

“The feeling is mutual,” J’zargo shot back.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Onmund teased, receiving a dirty look from J’zargo.

“Okay, everyone, cups,” Bastet said, shaking the wine bottle slightly.

“Oh, wow, I really thought you were going to hog all that,” Oshana said, offering her cup.

“We _all_ need to mellow out, and if anything’s going to do that it’s Argonian drink,” Bastet told her as she poured. After the group all received their helpings they began their drink. Hugh let the wine roll on his tongue. It was tart and bitter, but not unpleasant. It reminded him of something…

“Ahh… I’ve tasted something like this before, sort of…” Hugh said.

“Me too, actually,” Johanna said back, taking another sip and smacking her lips.

“It’s not vodka but it’s something,” Maxim muttered, slowly drinking it in.

“I was somewhere specific when I had the drink this reminds me of…” Hugh said thoughtfully.

“Oh!” Johanna proclaimed. “Moxie!”

“Mox… oh yeah! That weird soda from Maine!” Hugh said with a laugh.

“Why would this taste like Moxie?” Jo asked.

“Ha! It’s _Argonian_ wine. Moxie’s ‘secret’ ingredient is algae… aka pond scum. So yeah, that’s what that bitter flavor is.”

“I always figured it was something strange,” Bastet said, taking a slug. “But that sounds about right.”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

The wine was strong, and with wine and hot meals in bellies, the aches, pains, and distress over the Elder Scroll had been muffled. The company conversed lightly and joked, sharing stories and even a few laughs. At one point Jasi got up to offer Enthir another black soul gem for one more bottle of bloodwine. The foul moods were alleviated a bit more as the drink flowed.

“So, Maxim, let me ask you something,” Hugh said to the soldier. “How’s a Russian army guy know English?”

“Ah. I was guard captain at one of our embassies for a few years. I did that for a while before joining the rank and file again as a Sergeant. I was at one of our bases when… _it_ happened.”

“At least you’re slightly more prepared for this than me and Hugh,” Johanna commented. “If I had been teleported ten minutes later than I was I’d’ve probably been laying out in that field in my PJs.”

“I did a nude swan dive into a snowbank outside my cabin before getting ready to hunt,” Hugh piped up with a grin. “ _Really_ glad it didn’t happen then.”

“Perhaps the Imperials would’ve been a bit more sympathetic of your plight,” Bastet said with a grin.

“I like to think I would’ve seduced them,” Hugh said back, getting a few laughs. The conversation lulled. The group sat in silent thought, taking a few sips of wine or picking the last few crumbs of food from their plates.

After a few minutes Jasi raised her head to speak. “You know… I think we should show the Arch-Mage your video, Hugh. Fill him in.”

“You know, I was just thinking that,” Hugh agreed.

“Totes,” Johanna put in.

“Is that really the only way to convince people we’re from another world?” Maxim asked.

“Come on, man. Having guns and cigarette lighters is hardly enough proof, considering you can pass that stuff off as Dwemer inventions to any dumbass under the sun. A video with the Dragonborn and Skyrim in it is pretty damning evidence.”

Maxim shrugged. “This is true, it just seems…”

“Monumentally retarded? Hey, if it works, it works.”

“Cannot argue with that,” Maxim said with a sigh as he heaved himself out of the chair. The others stood with him and followed Jasi out of the dormitory.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

The Arch-Mage stood over the garden in the center of his quarters, raising his hands over the flowers and mushrooms that grew around the old tree. Between his palms a small cloud hovered, and from that cloud sprinkled water which splashed into the soil the plants took root in. He turned his head when he heard Jasi come on.

“Ah! Miss Gs’ari, I had heard you returned briefly only to go off again to a Dwemer city of all places.” He lowered his hands and turned toward them, taking in the sight of Jasi’s sisters and friends.

“You keep peculiar company, I must say, Miss Gs’ari,” he said.

“I can’t pick my family, but they picked the others,” she joked, jerking her thumb at the three Earthlings.

“You have to admit they have good taste, though,” Hugh countered.

Aren chuckled, then asked, “What brings you here this time, Jasi?”

“It’s a… sensitive but all around confounding issue, Arch-Mage,” Jasi said carefully. She looked to Hugh and nodded. Savos watched the Canadian inquisitively when he stepped forward, holding the phone between his hands.

“So, you probably like astronomy, yer a wizard after all, Dumbledore So… imagine the universe, the totality of existence. Now picture that all encompassed in a bubble…”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

“You really do keep peculiar company, Miss Gs’ari,” Aren said as he handed the phone back to Hugh. The Arch-Mage sighed wearily and turned away. He walked over to a bookcase with locked cabinet doors encasing the tomes and scrolls that sat within. With a wave of his hand the doors unlocked and opened themselves. He scanned the volumes with narrowed eyes.

“I honestly don’t know why I’m looking here, I doubt there’s a book here or even one in the Arcanaeum that comes even remotely close to the issue you face,” the wizard said, more to himself than the others.

“You don’t have to rush,” Hugh said. Aren turned to him with a surprised look.

“Do you not desire to return to your home?”

“Well I _do_ , but I’m helping the sisters. There’s more to this than just me, Jo and Maxim being lost in space.”

“And how is that, might I ask?”

“Bastet,” Jasi said. “She is the Dragonborn.”

“You are?” he said in surprise, looking at the silver-gray Khajiit. “Wasn’t that Dragonborn on the device a Nord?”

“The game isn’t a representation of your world,” Hugh explained, “Just an imitation. Anyone of any race could’ve been the Dragonborn… it just happened to be Bastet the Khajiit.”

“Believe me, I was just as shocked when I was told,” said Bastet.

“This certainly makes things even more interesting,” Aren said. “Pray tell your little excursion to Alftand had anything to do with it?”

“It did. We were supposed to find an Elder Scroll there,” Jasi told him.

“An Elder Scroll, hm? I suppose such a rare and powerful artifact would be something the fated Dragonborn would need,” Aren said. “But what do you mean by ‘supposed to be there?’”

“Think a little harder,” Oshana grumbled.

“Oshana, shut up,” Jasi grunted at her. “But yes, the Scroll was missing. Someone had beaten us to it. I don’t know how, supposedly only did _we_ have the tools to unlock the Scroll from its resting place, but the Oculory was already opened, certainly not by force.”

“That explains your visit to Septimus,” Aren said. “And I find it a mite disturbing that such a thing could occur, Dwemer Ocularies are not known for being ‘easy to crack’ as a thief might say. Frankly at all, unless you have the components specifically designed to open one.”

“Maybe whoever stole it had a… what was it, a lextingcon?” Jo said.

“A lexicon,” Aren corrected. “Unlikely, lexicons are far and few between. Even at the height of Dwemer civilization they were rare. Keys that unlocked important secrets. Anyone who’s anyone should know not to leave many copies of important keys behind.”

“You say it’s only ‘unlikely,’ though,” Jasi pointed out.

“Indeed. It _is_ possible someone found a different lexicon and altered its functionality for that specific Oculory.”

“So a hack, basically,” Hugh muttered.

“If by ‘hack’ you mean forcefully reprogramming a lexicon, then yes,” Aren said. “Which means someone of great magical prowess, intellect, and vast knowledge of Dwemer artifacts has done this. Or at least sent someone with the tool in question to retrieve it for him or herself.

“Now, I know from living in Skyrim for so many years that the Prophecy of the Dragonborn and Alduin is a grave one. This Elder Scroll must be essential to carry out your mission to destroy the World-Eater, and frankly I’m appreciative that you three,” he looked between Hugh, Jo and Maxim, “are willing to halt your quest to return to your world just to save ours. Not many in your shoes would even consider doing that.”

“I just wanna enjoy the scenic views. Oh, and those god-tier horker loaves,” Hugh said with a smile.

“Hm,” Aren chuckled. “Skyrim certainly has a beautiful landscape, and I myself am quite partial to horker broiled with mustard and brown sugar.”

“We already have plans to hunt down the Scroll,” Bastet said. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow to set out.”

“May I ask how you intend to search?” Aren said.

Bastet thought for a moment, then said, “We’re enlisting the help of the Blades, or what’s left of them.”

“Intriguing,” Aren said thoughtfully. “But not entirely surprising if one knows their history, being Dragonslayers long before swearing allegiance to the Septim lineage. Best not let our… guest overhear this.”

“Ugh…” Jasi groaned in disgust.

“What’s this about?” Oshana asked.

“There’s a Thalmor agent keeping tabs on the College,” Jasi told her. “For what reason no one knows, but it seems like he’s here to stay.”

“I don’t think he’ll be too problematic, honestly, as long as this information only stays with me,” Aren said. “You can rest assured you have full confidentiality in me.”

“We appreciate this, Arch-Mage,” Jasi said gratefully.

“I will be happy to help in any way I can,” he said.

“There is one thing I’ve been thinking of, actually, one that might require a lot of time and resources,” Jasi said.

“Explain it to me and I’ll see if I can do anything.”

“Skyrim once had warp pylons like those of Morrowind and a few other places across Tamriel. Still do, actually, they’ve just fallen into disrepair as the Nords have grown to be… less fond of magic,” Jasi explained.

“Ah! I see where you’re going with this,” Aren said. “If we could reactivate them they’d be most useful in your endeavors. But like you said, it would take a lot to make that happen. Manpower, gold, copious amounts of magicka. Plus it wouldn’t exactly be an affair to happen in secret; someone would find out eventually.”

“I don’t think that’s such an obstacle, actually,” Jasi said. “It’s Hugh, Johanna and Maxim that need to remain secret. But half of Skyrim already knows that dragons have returned, along with the Dragonborn. It would make sense if the College decided to aid the Dragonborn in her mission by rebuilding Skyrim’s warp nexus.”

“That is a good point,” Aren said with a smile. “Very well, I will get on that as soon as I can. I think the faculty and even student body can be persuaded to help if they know the stakes.”

“Even better idea, get the students in on it. Crisis and all that,” Oshana said.

“Quite,” Aren said back. The Dunmer turned to his desk. “I will have to begin writing letters to other mages in the province. Enlisting their help shouldn’t be too difficult. In the meanwhile, I suggest Hugh and company take a look around the Arcanaeum for any tomes concerning travel between worlds. I doubt there will be anything to your specific cases, but general knowledge of dimensional travel may be a good place to start.”

“Yeah, I guess I can head there and try to avoid eye contact with the librarian,” Hugh said.

Aren chuckled again. “Never underestimate Urag’s dedication to the book collection.”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

Although Hugh had planned to browse the library back in Aren’s quarters, he had a change of heart on the way downstairs. Long days tended to do that, so now all he wanted was to lean back in one of dorm’s many cushy chairs.

Upon entering the Hall of Attainment he took a seat on one, Johanna joining him along with Oshana and Bastet. Jasi went to look for some things in her quarters while Maxim went upstairs for a seat by a window.

“So, here’s a thing,” Hugh said when he and the other ladies were comfy in their seats, “Delphine will want us to find another fellow Blade, Esbern. He’s supposed to be hiding out in Riften, in the Ratway.”

“A good as place as any to hide from the Thalmor,” Bastet said. “Hopefully he’ll actually be there.”

“Yeah… another thing, Inigo might be in Riften, too.”

Oshana sat up at this. “Where specifically?” She had an unnerving cold, murderous look in her eye.

“He’s in a prison cell.”

“Good, he’s cornered. Should be easy,” Oshana said lowly.

“Hold on,” he said, but she threw a look of fire at him.

“Don’t tell me to ‘hold on,’ I don’t care what you _think_ you know, but that whoreson tried to murder me to feed his addiction.”

“You didn’t get to that part, last night,” Bastet cut in. “How close did her get to ‘trying to murd-’”

“He shot me in the fucking head, Bastet!” Oshana snarled at her. Bastet withdrew and Oshana stopped herself. She took in a breath. “I’m sorry, Bastet, I didn’t mean to lash out at you. But it’s true. When I had my back turned he used his bow and stuck an arrow in my skull. I don’t know what happened immediately after that. I woke up one night in a farmer’s home, the village healer tending to me. When I asked what had happened they said a Stormcloak detachment found me stumbling through the woods, cursing Inigo’s name with that arrow _still_ lodged in my head.”

“Gods above…” Bastet whispered.

“When they tried to calm me down apparently I went berserk, cut a few of them with my claws. I passed out from the exertion and they brought me to that village. I have no actual recollection of any of that happening, so I should be thankful that the healer managed to ‘fix’ my memory after they removed the arrow.”

“Did you try to find him after that?”

“I _wanted_ to, but I was bedridden for the better part of a fortnight. The people taking care of me were kindly… heh, I guess that somehow rubbed off on me, because they talked me out of finding him, told me revenge leads to nowhere good. They did me a final kindness before I left and gave me coin to reach Whiterun. I had been with the Companions since before you arrived.”

“But now it seems like you have an opportunity to meet him again,” Bastet said. Oshana opened her mouth to respond, but Bastet went on, “I think you should listen to Hugh on this, despite your… misgivings.”

“I concur,” Hugh told her forcefully. “Now look, I get it, that’s a pretty fucked up story, but there’s a chance that the Inigo in that cell is… well, ‘like the Inigo I know,’” Hugh told her with air-quotes.

“Your air-quotes don’t inspire confidence,” Oshana said flatly. “But…” she sighed, “I suppose I should apologize… again. I know none of this is your fault, Hugh, and I certainly haven’t helped. But this man…”

“Oshana, look at it this way,” Hugh said, “If you see him in that cell, and he’s still a skooma-ridden scoundrel, then… go ahead. Off him or whatever you think is best. It’s your choice. But I believe that the _real_ Inigo would want nothing more than to make amends. See, his ‘story’ in the game is that he feels guilt for trying to kill you- er, the ‘player character.’ Their whole relationship is based on it, in fact. He’s in the cell not because he got caught for a crime but because he’s… waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” Oshana said in surprise. “You can’t be…” She trailed off, lost in thought.

“Ah! See? I know you’ve got a lot of mixed feelings about him, but you know he isn’t some evil monster that just wants to kill people so he can hit up some more skooma.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Oshana said back resistantly, but she still looked torn.

“I agree with Hugh, Sister,” Bastet said. “Hugh may be right or wrong about events or objects, but it seems all the ‘characters’ are pretty spot on.”

Hugh grinned. “See? Bastet’s in a meta state of mind, that’s how you should view Skyrim. Except for Inigo. I vouch for that retardant blueberry.”

“Pff, what?” Oshana said, casting a confused smile at Hugh. He sniggered back.

“Ah, just another in-joke,” Hugh told her.

“I don’t suppose you can share any more information on him?”

“Actually… no, I can’t.”

“And I shouldn’t twist your arm--literally, might I be clear--for more info… why?”

“Because, I may know more about Inigo than even Inigo knows about himself, but he’s still a person. And he deserves privacy. A chance to explain these things himself. To you.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that Bastet was actually an established character and I just spilled the beans on her secret life of alcohol abuse and child cannibalism-”

“The fuck?” Bastet said with a disgusted sneer, but Hugh went on, poorly trying to hide a smirk.

“Would you rather Bastet have a chance to explain herself instead of hearing me yak about it? Without context? Because Hypothetical Bastet only drinks to make the voices in her head stop talking, and the only way to kill vampire children is by consuming their hearts.”

“Wow…” Bastet muttered, plopping back onto the couch cushions whilst staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s hard to take the analogy seriously when it’s so ridiculous,” Oshana pointed out.

“Just think about it, Oceanographer,” Hugh sighed at her, getting to his feet. “Anyone want a beer?” he asked as he walked to the buffet room.

“Aye!” Bastet said with a raised hand.

“Nah,” Jo said back. Oshana remained silent in thought. Unconsciously she raised a hand to the back of her head. She may have blacked out after Inigo’s attack, but the memory of that arrow quite literally drove itself in her brain. That quicksilver helmet from her old set of apotheus armor certainly had saved her life, especially when considering it had been ebony weaponry used on her.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she gave a smile to Bastet.

“Oshana, have a beer,” Bastet old her. Oshana gave a laugh then called Hugh.

Through the rest of the evening they got good and drunk.

 


	12. Chapter 11- Roundabout

Chapter Eleven

Roundabout

 

One of them stirred. Then another. A groan. A fart. One rolled over completely.

Jasi was propped up on the headboard of her bed, wool pillows cushioning her back. She had her knees drawn up and a book in her lap which she thumbed through slowly. Her extra large bed was pushed against the left wall of her room, leaving the floor spacious for minor spell practice. Now, however, the space was occupied. Three figures were huddled within layers of blankets. Across the room from Jasi, Johanna was curled up on a moderately sized couch. She, Jasi and Maxim (who oddly decided to sleep on one of the dorm couches outside) had taken moderation in their drinking. The rest of their little group, however...

Bastet sat up first, grimacing and rubbing an eye.

“Jasi, why didn't you cut me off...?” was the first thing she moaned, massaging a temple.

“Because after being away from you two for so long I've gotten used to not having to intervene in your binge drinking,” she said back, closing the book to glower at her. Oshana muttered something incomprehensible from beside Bastet, still mummified in blankets. Hugh poked his head from his cocoon, not looking quite as bleary, but still obviously hungover.

“We didn't drink _that much_ ,” he said, sitting up so he could stretch and yawn.

“They never could hold their alcohol well,” Jasi told him.

“Oh, that's too bad. I was hoping I'd have some company when I agreed to Sam's drinking game.”

“Who's Sam?” Jasi asked.

“Oh, he's just Sanguine disguised as a Breton. If I play my cards right he'll give me... give me, uh...” Hugh snapped his fingers as he wracked his beleaguered brain. “The flower staff thing that conjures Dremora lords.”

“There are so many concerns you just raised...” Jasi said to him lowly.

“Oh chill out, the guy just wants to party hardy, and he'll give us a kick-ass artifact just for getting pissed with him.”

“Or he could release your repressed fetish for horse fucking,” Oshana grunted, still under her blankets.

“There's no way he could make me sleep with you.”

Jasi snickered at that while Oshana at last raised her head from the blankets to stare at Hugh, her eyes molten. Bastet smiled weakly, probably would've laughed too if her head wasn't about to burst.

“Ooh that's a burn,” Johanna said suddenly with a grin. “Burn, baby, burn.”

“Well,” Jasi spoke up, throwing her blankets off, “as much as talking about our fetishes is fascinating,” she swung her legs over the bed and got on her feet, “I think we should get ready to leave. You all pack up while I speak with the Arch-Mage, he'll be able to send us to Riverwood, since you two have been there recently,” she told Hugh and Bastet. She grinned wolfishly. “Since you'll need to offer your memory for the spell to work, it's gonna turn your heads into chopped meat. Well, one of you anyway.”

“Not it!” Hugh said, raising his hand. Bastet cast a sour look at him.

“You're resorting to a child's game to get yourself out of it?”

“Hey, 'Not It' is a sacred oath to be honored by all. You're the Dragonborn, you're not only more powerful but are expected to abide the laws of 'Not It.'”

“Just do it so he shuts up,” Oshana added.

“Fuck off, you're on your own,” Bastet said instead, standing so she could slip her feet into her boots. She left the room at that.

“Hmm. Well, tough luck, Hugh,” Jasi told him when she got her boots on, too. She followed Bastet's suit.

“But... not it...”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

It was warmer today, maybe the hottest day yet this Last Seed. Hod gave a groan as he sat down on a bench beside his lumber mill, wiping sweat from his brow. On the bench was a small deerskin parcel containing his lunch. His house was a short walk, sure, but he only took brief breaks before getting back to it. Small, short breakfasts and lunches did him fine. He liked it better when hunkering down at the end of the day with a nice, big supper. Felt more like a hard-earned reward, and that it was.

Hod reached for the parcel, put it on his lap and unfolded it. A bread loaf seasoned with rosemary, a hunk of extra sharp cheddar, with cuts of pork belly. He took a bit of bread with a bit of cheese, relishing the creamy tang of the cheddar along with the savory flavor of the rosemary bread. Just as he took another bit an enormous flash of light erupted in front of him. He choked and jumped to his feet, the lunch spilling in the grass. The light lingered for a few seconds, enough time for him to brandish a hatchet, then faded away almost as quickly as it came. He blinked in amazement when he saw the figures before him. Six people. Three of them Khajiit women (was that the one that showed up a few days ago at Alvor's house?), the other two men and one teenage girl (one of the men groaned and clutched his head). One Khajiit stood out the most, standing almost two heads taller than Hod and resplendent in glass college robes. Unlike the other lynx-cats he had seen every now and again the tall one's head was like a jaguar's. The other women were in steel and leather armors, respectively. A somewhat older man who screamed “soldier” just by the look about him was in peculiar snow-colored clothes. The other was in scale mail, and the girl was in a leather-fur combination.

One of the Khajiit turned to him, the one in plate armor.

“Sorry about that, but we had to get here sooner rather than later,” she said to Hod. Seeing there was no threat, he dropped the hatchet on the bench then cursed at his food, spilled all over the ground.

“Oh, er, we've got extra,” Jasi said, a little embarrassed.

“Wha?” Hod said, glancing up at them. “Oh, don't worry about it, a little grass isn't going to kill me.” As he picked up his food he said, “You mind telling me what that was all about? Didn't I see you here before?” He directed that last question at Bastet.

“I'd say so,” she replied.

“Are you some sort of hero company? Teleporting to trouble?”

“Well...”

“Ah, ain't none my business!” Hod said suddenly, putting a hand up to them. “Just... next time, do it just outside the village. Whole place would be in an uproar if you had done that in the middle of the street.”

Hod went back to his meal, leaving the others to glance at each other, shrug, then move on to the Sleeping Giant Inn.

 

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

 

Orgnar was half-asleep when they walked in. He had his head propped up on his hand, pulling his cheek up in a partial sneer. He raised his eyes and his brows when he beheld them, unmoving and having trouble finding something to say.

So he just settled for: “...welcome.”

At this point Delphine walked from her room into the main hall, stopping short when she noticed the lot of them. She looked between the group, sighed, then said, “I guess any more efforts at subtlety will be in vain.”

“I take it you know why we're here,” Bastet said, stepping forward.

Delphine sized her up, looked to the others, back to Bastet then said, “I'd like a word in private. I'd prefer if your... companions waited here.”

“Actually, I need to bring him with me,” Bastet said, gesturing to Hugh. “It's essential, actually.” Delphine looked skeptical but nodded in agreement.

“Follow me, close the door behind you.”

A short walk through her room door then her wardrobe's secret panel later and they were in Delphine's little Blade sanctuary, a bit bigger this time around (like everything else). More weapon racks (with all manner of “samurai” swords, from tantos to dai-katanas). Two mannequins, one dressed in a set of apotheus armor (looked like the Immersive Armors mod made it into Realrim), and some crossbows (fancy looking not-Asian ones). Everything else was pretty much the same, just more spacious.

“You're quick, I only just got back from Ustengrav,” Delphine remarked, sounding a little impressed. Bastet and Hugh glanced at each other.

Bastet turned back to Delphine. “We didn't go to Ustengrav,” said she. “My sister Jasi—the Cathay-raht mage—took us to Winterhold, then to Alftand.” Delphine narrowed her eyes, and Bastet could not only tell by her body language, but the scent in her pheromones that she was on high guard... well, high _er_.

“Then how did you end up here?” she asked quietly.

“Hugh...” Bastet said to him.

It was video time.

 

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

 

Delphine placed the phone on the table gently, then looked up at Hugh with those piercing gray eyes.

“So you've got a lock on all this, huh? Know how to defeat the dragons? Where to find me?”

“Yes and yes, but there's more to it than that and it's, er, how should I put this? Turned upside down and fucked up beyond all reason.”

“And how is that?”

“We went to Alftand to retrieve an Elder Scroll, one that would give Bastet the knowledge to defeat Alduin. Yes, Alduin,” Hugh said louder when Delphine gave him a dubious look, “The World-Eater, the one prophecised to destroy all life. He's real, just like Mehrunes Dagon, and Molag Bal, and the King of Worms, and all the other nasties that want to make the mortal realm their own personal playhouse with destructible physics.”

“Mannimarco is dead...”

“Dead _er...est_ , but that's not the point.”

“I got your point,” Delphine sighed, her expression softening just a tad. “You'll just have to forgive me, even _I_ need some time to digest that the world might end... on top of what you are and where you come from.”

“If you're having an existential crisis; don't. You're real, Skyrim's real, all of this is real. The thing I showed you was the fake. It's just a game where I'm from.”

“If someone told you you were a character in a story in some other universe, would _you_ not have an 'existential crisis,'” Delphine shot back.

“Sister, if I was a character in a story from another universe, it'd mos def be a self-insert fan fiction. Am I being meta enough? _Oh!_ I can totally be Deadpool!”

“Hugh...” Bastet said dangerously.

“Right, sorry... _Captain_ Deadpool!”

“Your inane rambling aside,” Delphine said flatly, turning her attention back to Bastet, “I take it that nord on the... device is false.”

“Yes. I am the Dragonborn.”

“Normally I'd ask you to prove it... but I've seen a lot here today...” Delphine said lowly, looking down at the table. She looked back up. “So from your attitude, I take it this plan to get the Elder Scroll didn't pan out, did it?”

“With flying colors...” Hugh mumbled.

“That's why we came to you,” Bastet told her. “You're an expert in these sorts of things. We don't have much to go on, but we wouldn't be asking if all of our lives weren't in danger.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Bastet recollected their experience at the Oculory. How it had been 'hacked' as Hugh put it. It gave Delphine a lot of think about.

“I'm no expert in dwemer technology...” she said thoughtfully. “Did you ever consider the possibility of it being done by the Thalmor?”

“Briefly, actually,” Bastet said. “Just to myself, though. I don't know _how_ they'd know anything about it, much less alter technology and magery far out of their league, but then again their cunning isn't to be underestimated.”

“I agree,” Delphine said. “In fact, I believe they may be responsible for the return of the dragons.”

“Nah,” Hugh cut in. Delphine looked at him, not with venom though, which he had expected. Instead, it was honest-to-god curiosity.

“If not the Thalmor, then who?”

“Actually... the Ancient Nords.”

“The Ancient...” Delphine whispered, then realization lit up her features. “Of course! That makes sense. This Elder Scroll you're looking for, it's probably the same one they used to defeat Alduin! But how did he come back?”

“Because they didn't actually kill him, you know, considering he's part-god,” Hugh said. “They sent him forward in time, and only now he's back, resurrecting the other dragons.”

“Heh. Glad to know that, though honestly I'm a little disappointed. I wanted an excuse to take on the Thalmor after what they did to my order.

“At any rate, them being involved in the Oculory business is still something I'd like to look into, however small the chance. I just wish I had more resources... but you seem to have several capable companions upstairs...”

“I don't like splitting us up... but we will if we have to,” Bastet said not without a hint of hesitance.

“Delphine,” Hugh spoke up, “I actually know the location of another Blade.”

She looked to him with wide eyes. “You do? Out with it, then!”

“I just need to let you know,” Hugh said, “I'm not exactly super accurate with my 'predictions.' The Scroll was supposed to be there, but it wasn't. I can't guarantee anything with... Esbern.”

“Esbern!” Delphine breathed, looking hopeful for a moment. Then she caught herself and put on her poker face again. “Very well, Hugh. I'll... keep that in mind. But it's in all of our interests if we go find him. The more Blades there are the easier it'll be to track down the Scroll. Where is he hiding?”

“The Ratway.”

“Ah. That makes sense. I briefly considered hiding there myself, long ago... heh, we would've run into each other.” She chuckled wistfully.

“My company will travel to Riften to search for Esbern,” Bastet said. “We'll return as soon as we can, then plan on from there.”

“Well, I won't just be sitting here on my hands, I'll contact some... sources I have around the province, see if I can dredge up some information about your problem. I doubt it'll bring up anything—no one in their right mind would brag about traveling with an Elder Scroll in their pack—but we have to start somewhere. And if you see Esbern... well, if you think I'm paranoid... just ask him, ‘Where were you on the thirtieth of Frostfall?' He'll know what it means.”

“I will,” Bastet said with a nod. “I suppose we're off, then. Let's hope for some luck with your sources.”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

Bastet told the company their next destination was Riften as they all stepped out from the dim inn to the sunny street. A little ways up the road several college mages walked to the group with their horses in tow. It had taken more than a few charm spells and combined magics of students and professors to prep the horses for teleportation. Skittish animals and sudden changes in scenery didn't mix well, and truly the horses looked almost doped up on magical tranquility. An extra horse had been purchased in Winterhold for Maxim. On the beast was a deerskin case for his rifle and some of his other 'unique' supplies.

The company all gathered on their mounts (Jasi conjuring her senche-raht to the awe of passersby), thanked the mages, then spurred their steeds on the road to Riften.

“I need to make time to see Inigo,” Oshana said to them. “If he's up to it, he'd be most helpful with our task.”

“I'm glad you're taking a chance on him,” Hugh said to her.

“I just hope you're right about him,” Bastet said.

“You and me both.”

Their travel took them back up to Ivarstead once more, but they only stopped for some extra supplies. It would take them a day and a half to arrive at their destination if they made good time, and they were likely to have to make camp somewhere along the road.

They rode over the bridge leading to the Rift, coming to a warm and pleasantly green forest of oaks and birches. Hugh wasn't accustomed to the sight of the Rift being green and summery, then reminded himself that Last Seed in Tamriel was their equivalent of August. Still, it was a nice change of pace after all the ice and frigid winds of the tundra. The air smelt of wood and flowers, feeling a bit more humid than Hugh preferred. But every now again a chilly breeze from the Jerrals would make them shudder a bit.

The road wound around and over hills and streams. Although the humans didn't hear it, the Khajiit caught the sounds of a military camp drifting down a hill from the north. Probably a Stormcloak one.

“If I get caught between another skirmish...” Bastet muttered, her ears sinking back as the memories of Helgen resurfaced.

“You can probably drive them off,” Oshana said, a playful smile curling her lips. “The Imperials would scatter in wake of your mighty Thu'um and the Nords would drop to their knees to praise the Dragonborn.”

“Heh, I like that sound of that, actually,” Bastet said with her own grin.

A sudden pluck of a snapped bowstring broke the peaceful forest sounds and light conversation. Hugh jumped out of his skin when something whizzed by his head, Johanna giving a yelp in response. The group looked to the direction of an irate curse that was barked by their assailant. A bandit had just got up to run off from behind cover, probably back to his friends.

“You fucking idiot!” Hugh yelled, grabbing his crossbow from the side of Jerma. He aimed at the bandit's receding back. “You were doing it wrong!” He pulled the trigger, the crossbow snapped, and a bolt went home in the back of the bandit's neck. In response a chorus of battlecries rose as men and women hopped out of hiding spots. A gaggle of Nords, an Argonian and an Orc leaped into the open, brandishing swords, maces, bows and spells.

“Scatter!” Bastet barked, kicking her mount into a gallop. Oshana, Bastet, Hugh and Maxim all took off in different directions to divert the bandits' attention. Johanna threw herself off of Arya to land on her knee. Jasi also dismounted, but unlike the skittish horses, the senche-raht familiar released a hair-raising roar and launched itself at the bandits. Her size certainly betrayed her speed, for she rushed at a heavily armored Nord and Orc duo and pounced on them. Both sets of frontal claws tore their helmets off, the sound of claw screeching against steel filling the air, along with the screams of the men as their faces were mutilated. The bandits smartly scattered as well, a threesome targeting Bastet.

The Dragonborn cursed and reached to her mount's left flank to retrieve her helmet, but she didn't expect the Argonian—his green scales blending with the forest floor—to jump out of nowhere, a dagger whistling through the air. She withdrew her hand quickly, but the blade cut into her horse's hide, making her whinny in pain. She kicked out at the Argonian, her steel boot landing against the side of his head. He staggered back with a yell. Before Bastet could reach for her helmet again a brilliant pain erupted on the side of her face. A scream rose in her throat, but was muffled by what had harmed her. An arrow had pierced her cheek, gnashing her teeth and gums. She growled in agony and hunched over, forcing her horse to gallop away. She barely registered two more arrows bouncing off her armor and the sound of Oshana calling her name. Bastet breathed heavily, choking a little on her own spit and blood, then reached to her face. Forcing through the pain, she gripped the arrow's shaft and snapped the missile in two. The bottom half she threw away, then she reached into her mouth and pulled the dart out, gasping freely when the obstruction was free. She spat blood to the side and finally managed to put her helmet on. She did her best to ignore the sensation in her cheek, the gaping hole hot with pain. Her right gums were mangled and filling her mouth with blood, forcing her to gape and drool it out like an animal. Focusing through it all, she spurred her steed 'round and brandished her sword, galloping into the fray once more.

Oshana leaped off her horse and tackled the one who had harmed her sister, resorting to her claws to rip apart his throat. The archer's partner certainly was not made of sterner stuff, for he cried in horror at the savagery and turned tail. Oshana wasn't having any of that, though. Her first victim finished, she sprinted after the other, unsheathing her sword. She drove its tip straight through his back, making him gasp and stagger to his knees. Swiftly she slid the blade from his torso, raised it over her head, then brought it down on top of his skull. It made a wet smack as it created a rend atop his scalp. The now-dead body convulsed as its nervous system was fractured by the steel. Oshana pulled back and let it fall limply. She just managed to catch the sound of the Argonian's light feet behind her and twisted around. She raised her arm to block his dagger. It was sharp and cut through her leather gauntlets but became stuck in the tough material. She managed a grimacing grin at the stupefied lizard, then bashed him in the eye with the pommel of her sword. It was crushed and he howled in pain, but the stubborn bastard maintained the grip on his dagger and pulled it out, leaping back with deftness. Oshana slashed at his legs but he was just out of reach. With a hiss he threw the dagger at her. It landed on her boot, piercing through just enough to wound her foot and throw her off balance. A backup dagger appeared in his hand and he made after her again, but the back of his head suddenly exploded in a mist of red, and he crumpled at her feet. Oshana looked up to see Maxim brandishing his handgun. His aim snapped to a group of three charging at him. He pulled the trigger and the pistol reported sharply, a whip's crack of sound piercing the air as the bullet left the suppressed muzzle, snapping one of the adversary's heads back. The slide shot back and forth with metallic clanks with each shot, bringing down the other two with ease Oshana couldn't help but be awed and envious of.

“ _You maggots!_ ” a voice roared. Oshana turned to see, miraculously, the Orc that Jasi's familiar had mauled was on his feet again. Half his face was torn off, the eye of his mangled side bulging widely, but he raised his hammer in the air, rallying what was left of his forces. It didn't last long, though. The sound of thundering hooves approached. The Orc turned just in time to see Bastet ride to him, lean to the side with her sword pulled back, then swung to lop off what was left of his head. The decapitated body staggered drunkenly as blood spurted into the air with queasy hisses and squelches. Whatever morale the Orc had tried to muster in the stragglers died along with him, and the rest ran for it. Jasi and Jo weren't having it, however, and bolts of fire and lightning brought them down before they could disappear into the woods.

After the final thunderclap subdued the final bandit, the sounds faded and the air became still and silent. The noise of battle had frightened the woodland creatures quiet, not a birdsong or insect's chirp to be heard. Oshana immediately limped towards Bastet as she climbed off her horse. Blood dribbled from under her helmet, down her neck and on her breastplate, matting her fur and staining the steel. Bastet gingerly pulled her helmet off, squinting against the agony. Oshana exclaimed something in Khajiiti, taking Bastet by the shoulder to sit her down on an old log. Bastet looked like she had more than a few words on her mind, unfortunately such a wound deterred her from expressing them, so she was left to stew in her pain and rage in silence.

“Step back, Oshana,” Jasi ordered as she marched forward, kneeling down next to Bastet. “Raise your head,” she ordered. Bastet obliged. Jasi raised a hand glowing with restorative magic and let the light flow. It drifted against her cheek like ethereal smoke. The ugly red and pink hole mended itself and Bastet let out a sigh of relief. Athough the healed wound still throbbed, it was worlds better than feeling air whistle through the side of her face and having to spit out teeth. Even for such a small wound the revitalization of living tissue took a significant draw from Jasi's magicka pool.

“Someone clean her up while I tend to Oshana,” Jasi barked, turning to her other sister.

“I've had a lot of wounds over the years...” Bastet muttered. She reached into her mouth and checked her teeth. Present and accounted for... well, new ones, anyway. The old ones were lost somewhere among the dead leaves and bugs.

“At least you didn't have my dentist growing up,” Hugh joked, offering her a bottle of water which she took gratefully. Hugh began to rub her bloody fur with a damp cloth. “Cleaning teeth was like an industrial process with her, not a delicate procedure.”

“Sadly she missed your tongue on all occasions,” Oshana shot back as Jasi pulled her boot off, revealing her four-toed and clawed foot stained with blood, a somewhat shallow wound on top.

Bastet rinsed her mouth of blood, spat to the side, then took a deep drink. “Ah! I'm uncorking the last of that bloodwine as soon as we make camp.”

“At this point I might even want some...” Jo muttered. “Did you see that fucking Shrek guy with half a face?!”

Hugh nearly died of laughter.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

Darkness had fallen. For a while anyway. When the sun was well below the mountains they had found flat ground to make camp on. Sizable tents were pitched—three bodies each—a nice big campfire lit up, a spit and pot erected over the flames. Some steaks and a pot of potato soup was on the menu tonight. And as they sat to eat the black sky was covered by waves of aurora. Bright crimson beams lapped over the stars and moons, touches of gold fraying the peaks of red.

After a short while of watching the sky and working on their meal and drink, Vadim spoke for the first time since Winterhold.

“What is our course of action for tackling Riften?” he asked. “I assume Hugh has an idea of what might happen.”

“Okay…” Hugh began, “So, there might be a Thalmor assassin masquerading as a citizen, a Khajiit woman. And there might be Thalmor in the sewers after Esbern, but I doubt that since we're 'early.' The one assassin might still be there, though.”

“Perhaps more than one,” Bastet said. “The question is should we all stay together, or split into teams?”

“Since I want to find Inigo, he and I can be out in the town, keeping a lookout.”

“If there is a sniper's nest somewhere in Riften,” Vadim said, “I will provide cover and be able to see what's happening at once.”

“That's an idea,” Oshana agreed. “And there is such a perch, the bell tower at the Temple of Mara.”

“That should work,” Vadim said.

“Might be a tight squeeze,” Jasi pointed out. “Just being a bell tower and all.”

“I can manage, I'm trained in the sort of thing, remember?”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Jasi, think you can fit in the tunnels with us?” Bastet said with a small teasing smile.

“I just need to duck my head, I'll be fine,” Jasi said back, waving her hand dismissively.

“Should we do this at night or day?” Oshana asked.

“If we did it at day and something goes wrong, the whole town might get involved. People would get hurt,” Bastet mused. “And if we did it by night there'd be less confusion, but guards would have an easier time getting at us if they see us being suspicious.”

“They might be busy with the Thalmor if they turn out to be there,” Jo offered.

“No, the Rift is Stormcloak territory. It would be difficult enough for them travel the region, let alone in a major city crawling with enemy soldiers. If they do turn out to be there, you can be sure they'd sooner run than expose themselves to the enemy. Not out in the open, anyway. If they turn out to be in the Ratway... then we'd have a fight on our hands.”

“But don't Nords respect the Dragonborn, even if one isn't a Nord?” Johanna said. “Why don't we just present ourselves to whoever's in charge and tell them the Thalmor's around?”

“That would just make things even more complicated,” Oshana told her. “No, it's better if we did this all under cloak and dagger. Even if we wind up with bounties in the Rift, there would be no reason for us to go back after our mission. I personally think night is the better option. Less risk of every day people getting hurt, we can repel the guards if need be--they're not that bright or skilled to be frank--and even if they locked the gate Bastet could just knock it down with her shouts.”

“That'll be fun,” she murmured with a smirk.

“They'd fuck right off after they saw that, too,” Hugh said.

“Exactly,” Oshana agreed. “So how does this sound: a night raid, I find Inigo and we wait outside while Maxim watches from the bell tower. The rest of you go into the Ratway... then depending on the circumstances... we play it by ear.”

“Sounds like a typical raid from our adventuring days,” Bastet said. “And that worked before, so why shouldn't it work now?”

“Is a good enough plan,” Maxim agreed with a shrug. Everyone else agreed, and it was settled.

“One more thing,” Hugh spoke up, looking to Oshana with a smirk. “Bring an extra pack of clothes. You might be seeing more of Inigo than you’re used to.”

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

They made Riften by the afternoon. Oshana and Bastet had a brief argument with a guard that first tried to shake them down, then wanted to keep them out on account of they being Khajiit. That was a load, of course, since the Jarl had been allowing entry to Khajiit for a few months now. Finally the guard gave up and let them in.

They at last stepped into the city, a sprawling labyrinth of tall wooden homes not unlike the ‘skyscrapers’ of Windhelm. Drying clothes dangled in the breeze on lines hooked across the city corridors, and the air smelt of old moist wood, along with the pungent odor of worked bodies and emptied chamber pots. They followed signs that pointed to the direction of the marketplace, stepping over bridges that crossed wide canals. The ones driving through the outer city districts were calm and stagnant. Scum floated over the still surface, smelling of piss and vinegar. But the deeper into the city they went, the cleaner it got. The buildings looked more well kept and the cobblestones under their feet less muddy and slick with grease. Soon they were upon the market, surrounded completely by an enormous canal that was big enough for small ships. It was busier here, both in the street, market square (or, circle), and the canals. The air smelt of baked goods, freshly caught fish, herbs and spices, and cooking meat that wafted from the chimney of the Bee and Bard (which was situated outside the square along with the other major businesses).

The company stopped at the head of one of the bridges crossing to the market.

“So we have a few more hours until dark,” Oshana said. “You’re sure he’ll be in the prisons?” She directed that question at Hugh.

“He should be… he also left notes asking specifically for the… you at the Bee and Barb.”

“I was thinking we stop there for lunch first, have to look the part of visiting adventurers,” Bastet told them.

So they stopped at the old inn, the place practically in an uproar with merchants, sailors, and locals deciding early afternoon was good enough for a drink. The Argonian chick behind the bar was barking something at a drunken Imperial obviously trying to hit on her. He felt reciting lines from ‘The Lusty Argonian Maid’ would woo her. Meanwhile her husband was also in an argument with that old Nord fellow that liked the drone on about the Stormcloaks. A typical day at the Bee and Barb, anyone could tell that was the case even if it was their first time there.

The Argonian guy looked up at them (Hugh wracked his brain. Pretty sure there was an ‘Ei’ in his name), said something of finality to the Nord who didn’t look happy about it, then approached the group with a strained smile.

“Greetings and salutations, adventurers,” he said to them. “Quite a party you have, let me rearrange some of the chairs and I’ll get you seated.”

“Quick question,” Oshana said to him, “This is going to sound out there, but did a Khajiit man happen to leave a note here? A Khajiit with blue fur?”

“Oh, him?” he asked in surprise. “He’s been the talk of the town, lately. ‘Bout a fortnight ago he came into the tavern, then turned himself right over to some guards who were on their break at the bar! Insisted he had attacked someone and wanted to be put in jail until the person-”

“Good, thank you,” Oshana said shortly then turned, heading right out the door. The man blinked.

“Huh… usually the pranksters try to play it up a bit more.”

“Believe me, I _wish_ this was all a joke…” Bastet sighed, then added to the Earthlings, “No offence.”

“None taken,” they answered simultaneously.

 

 

**: : : : : :**

 

 

Oshana's bootsteps clopped mutely on the damp cobblestones. She marched determinedly towards Mistveil keep, a beautiful but imposing structure that reminded her of Castle Cheydinhal in some ways. The grand double doors were flanked by heavily armored guards, fierce looking double-axes leaning next to them on the stone wall. Getting a brief look at them, she banked to the right for the entrance to the prison. One guard leaned on the wall beside it but was clearly dosing, his crossed arms hanging limply across his chest as he snored beneath his helmet. Oshana walked by him casually and opened the door leading to the cellblock. She made her way down another set of steps, took a left and came to one last flight before stopping at another door. There sat another guard—this one awake but almost bored to sleep—on a wooden chair, playing solitaire on a small table. He raised his head at Oshana with an annoyed look.

“Hey, you're not allowed down here,” he told her.

“There's a prisoner here I wish to speak to,” she told him. “Possibly pay his bail.”

“I don't know what other Holds' laws are but we don't do that here,” he said to her stubbornly. That was bullshit, he was just fishing for an excuse to make her go away. But she knew how Riften worked.

“Did I say coin for the prisoner by mistake?” she said, showing him a fistful of coins.

“I believe you did,” he said back, taking the septims. After laying them on the table he turned in his seat and unlocked the door.

“Don't take too long, I change shifts in a few minutes,” he said.

“Would it really matter?”

“Unless you want to be gouged for a few more coins.”

Shrugging, Oshana entered the next room. Ahead of her a chamber opened up, flanked by cells held fast with iron bars. There weren't many inhabitants aside from some drunks sleeping off their stupors, maybe a petty thief or two. One cell was finely furnished, complete with wardrobes, a down bed and a selection of fine foods on a varnished dining table. That had to be that Black-Briar's cell, but Oshana could care less.

She went on into the chamber and looked to her left. In the adjacent cell under the covers of a cot was a tail of unmistakable almost-violet dark blue fur. Oshana stopped for a moment, feeling that pin in the back of her head again. She raised her hand to massage her skull, biting her lower lip.

_You better be right about him, Hugh,_ she thought, not for the first time. Oshana raised an unusually heavy foot and stepped toward the cell.

Upon the bars, she could see his form more clearly. Inigo snored softly from under the pale blankets. To her surprise his ebony bow and sword were with him in the cell, lying beside each other on a table, sharing the space with a jar occupied by some grass and twigs and a buzzing dragonfly. Aside from those items his cell was bare.

“You know him?” a voice said behind her. She turned to see a woman guard studying her suspiciously.

“We have a history,” Oshana told her.

“Heh, you wouldn't happen to be that imaginary person that skooma-sucking fool told us about,” the guard said with a lopsided grin. It faltered as Oshana held her with a cold gaze. “Wait... you... aren't... _can't._ ”

“I know skooma addicts aren't the most reliable eyewitnesses even to their own doing, but this time around Inigo's story is true,” Oshana told her.

“So... wait, you're hoping to kill him like he said?” the guard asked suddenly, her hand falling the pommel of her sword.

“Don't bother, you'll just get yourself hurt,” Oshana told her flatly. “And no, I don't think I am. In fact, since he's not an actual prisoner, go ahead and unlock the door, will you?”

Clearly intimidated, the guard silently stepped by Oshana and unlocked the cell door. Oshana noticed Inigo had already woken up and was rubbing his eyes as he groaned groggily.

“Don't make a scene,” the guard muttered and strode away. Inigo brought his copper-colored eyes up to meet Oshana's face and they widened, his pupils dilating almost to complete circles.

“Oshana...” he whispered. Oshana opened the door and stepped into his cell as he jumped to his feet. The man was only in his under garments. All of his lean body was covered in that strange blue fur of his, his nose a shade of grapefruit with white stripes crossing his face. His hair and sideburns were dark, just as his expression. Some new features were a few vicious looking scars across his nose and cheek.

“Come to kill me at last,” he said to her. “Thank the gods, I can bear the guilt no longer.”

“At least you feel something,” Oshana said lowly. Her heart quivered with feelings of betrayal and grudging, but also were mingled with pity and sorrow. Her emotions must have shown uncharacteristically on her face, because Inigo looked away guiltily at the ground.

“For what it's worth... I am sorry, and I am glad you are still alive,” he said. “Your life was and still is more worthwhile than mine.” He looked up at her again, a new air about him suddenly. One of dignity and clarity. Oshana saw he indeed wasn't high on skooma... and hadn't been for a while. He was more fit, not skinny and fragile like he had been all those months ago. Maybe Hugh was right about him after all...

He said, “This may come as a surprise to you, but I have found honor in facing my guilt, so I will defend myself when it comes time for you to cut me down. But even then you have always been the superior swordsman... in fact you reminded me of my brother...” He murmured this sadly, trailing off. “So you should prove victorious over a sad former skooma addict like me.”

“Please, cutting down a skooma addict is like beating an alfiq,” Oshana said with a bitter lopsided smile. “And contrary to many people's beliefs about me I'm not the type to hold grudges. I'm not going to kill you, Inigo.” That was a response he hadn't planned on as he looked at her with almost child-like bewilderment.

“But... you have to!” he sputtered.

“Actually, Inigo, it sounds like you're trying to take the easy way out,” Oshana remarked. That angered him.

“No, I tried to take the easy way out not a week after I...” he swallowed against a lump in his throat as a dark memory played itself in his mind's eye, “After I shot you. Believe me, I tried, but fate had other plans. It is a long story, but my narrow brush with death only made me realize I have much more to atone for.”

“So you avoided suicide... only so you can be honor-murdered?” Oshana challenged, an unexpected playful smirk pulling her lips as he folded her arms over her chest. His ears twitched back in embarrassment.

“Well... it _sounds_ , er... _silly_ when you put it-”

“It's fucking stupid and you know it, Inigo.”

“Well what would you have me do?!” he demanded, flinging his arms in the air.

She shrugged. “Come with me.” Another answer he hadn't been prepared to hear.

“I... fight with you?” he said numbly, his ears up and eyes wide in both stupefaction... and hope. The look was so innocent it all but washed away Oshana's misgivings about her betrayer.

“Yes. You have a debt to me, and you can pay it in blood if you want... just not in yours.”

He looked down, resting a hand on his table to steady himself.

“Oshana, I...” he murmured.

“Sit before you fall on your head,” Oshana told him. He nodded and took a seat. “You've really taken to being dramatic, haven't you?”

“Do not make fun, this all very serious to me, and it should be to you, as well!” he exclaimed.

“Well, it would be a bit more serious if you didn't look like the stripper at my cousin's bachelorette party,” she teased, relishing the annoyed look on his face. Maybe this was the best way to take revenge on him. His expression faltered and he began snickering, looking down at his almost-bare body.

“I, er, sold all my armor and clothes to pay the Riften guard for the cell,” he admitted sheepishly. “Haven't worn a stitch since.”

Oshana sighed and put down the duffel bag she had brought. She laid some clothes out on the table for him.

“Oh, thank you,” he said gratefully as he held them up to study. He paused and looked at her inquisitively. “Wait, how did you know I needed clothes? I doubt you just had a random set at your side...”

“Long story,” she said. “Which you'll hear soon enough, so get dressed. I think you'll be pleased to know we already need your help.”

“'We?'” Inigo repeated as he pulled trousers up his legs.

“Some friends and my sisters.”

He stopped as he grabbed a boot, looking up at her almost frightfully, saying, “Do... your sisters know?”

“Of course I told them,” she said plainly. “Don't worry, they'll look past your murderous skooma-fueled rage soon enough.”

“I cannot believe how nonchalant you are being about this,” he said as he pulled on the boots.

“Neither can I.”

“You know I had hoped we could have been friends back then...” he said as he paused in dressing himself. “I had grown to respect you during that short time during the job. But greed got the better of me.”

“Inigo, you're not the first skooma addict that's tried to kill me,” Oshana told him.

“But I doubt those people still draw breath.”

“Probably, but not but my hand. Like I said, beating on a skooma addict is like beating an alfiq. I've always had a soft spot for the poor sods, and you're not much different. I won't lie and say your betrayal means little, but that doesn't mean you can't redeem yourself.”

“That means a lot to me,” he said. “I am truly grateful you are giving me a second chance. But honestly I am a little worried about your sisters. How protective are they?”

“Believe me, _I'm_ the protective one, even over my older Cathay-raht sister.”

“Cathay-raht? You are not making them sound any less intimidating.”

“Oh, did I mention my twin sister is the Dragonborn?”

“Okay, you're making that up,” Inigo said with a smile. The toothy grin Oshana returned made his fade. “Errr... right?”

“Just get dressed and grab your things, Inigo. We've got a secret mission to accomplish.” Deciding not press further and just see where it went, Inigo pulled on his shirt, hung his bow on his back, strapped the blade to his hip along with the dragonfly's jar (Oshana noticed 'Mr. D' had been painted on the glass), and grabbed a coin purse.

“Okay, lead the way,” he said.

 


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Evil Spells

 

Inigo swallowed when the eyes fell upon him. At Oshana's table there was a youngish man, brown-haired and pale-skinned, stubble growing on his cheeks and chin. Sitting next to him was a girl of around sixteen, dark haired and about as pale-skinned as well. An older man sat with them, dressed in some strange clothes. Hanging on the back of his chair was a hooded canvas jacket colored strangely with white and various shades of gray, like someone had tipped over paint on it. He wore a dark sweater and a pair of pants that matched the jacket.

The sisters were the ones that made him nervous, though. The gaze of (surprisingly) not the Cathay-raht sister but the Cathay one held him the most. At first glance she seemed like your average Khajiit woman, but the look in her eyes held something deep and... primeval. He didn't know why that word came to mind, but that's what it felt like. Then he thought about Oshana saying she was Dragonborn...

He looked next to the older sister. She seemed equally as guarded as the other, but had a more curious air about her. Inigo could tell she was pondering his blue fur. Trying to rationalize it. Eh, better than the idiots who just saw him as a freak.

“Well, here we are,” Oshana said. “Inigo: Bastet, Jasi, Hugh, Johanna, and Maxim. Everyone, Inigo.”

“I trust you know where to place your shots from that bow,” Bastet said to him coolly.

“That's behind me, now,” he said back. “I'm here to redeem myself and prove my honor. I hope with time you will come to see that.”

“We'll see,” Jasi said, looking away from him to sip from a mug of mead.

“Okay, sit with us, Inigo,” Oshana told him. “We've got some things to cover.”

Hugh cleared his throat to get Oshana's attention. “Should I show him now or... later?”

“Mmm, later, we need to stay focused at the task at hand,” Oshana replied.

“So....” Inigo whispered, leaning in, “This secret mission, then?”

“Right now we're trying to locate a man named Esbern in the Ratway,” Oshana explained. “He's a Blade, whom we're going to reunite with another Blade we met named Delphine.”

“I'm guessing this is only the tip of the iceberg,” Inigo said.

“Sure is, but for now that's where we're leaving it,” Maxim spoke up with a heavy accent Inigo didn't recognize. “We're going to wait until nightfall before we make our move.” Maxim went over the plan again, with the sisters going into the sewers, he taking up his position in the bell tower, and Hugh and Johanna keeping watch outside.

“You should back them up, Inigo,” Oshana said of Hugh and Jo. “They're decent in a scrap but are still just greenhorns.”

“Should we be expecting trouble?” Inigo asked.

“Undercover Thalmor agents,” Bastet told him. “One is likely to be a Khajiit woman, but there could be more and they could be anyone.”

“Heh, spies. Don't worry, I can smell them out,” Inigo said with a prideful grin. “I have a knack for picking up, err... _pheromone_ subtleties.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now,” Oshana said with a smile. “There was a pack of spiders a few miles ahead, _upwind_ , and yet you managed to get a whiff of them long before I did.”

“Heh, yes, that was a fun day. Stumbled upon a whole grove full of the buggers,” Inigo reminisced.

“Normally I like spiders, but not freaking giant ones,” Johanna said.

“Oh come now, giant spiders are the best!” Inigo proclaimed. “You have to appreciate the crackling they make when you bring a mace down on them!”

“Ew, no!” Jo said. “Giant spiders can go to hell! Plus when I say I like regular spiders, I mean I like taking _care_ of them, like pets.”

“You got tarantulas at home or something?” Hugh asked.

“Hell yeah! Bart, Baxter and Barry, my three boys!”

“I can't imagine taking care of spiders big _or_ small,” Inigo said, shaking his head. “What about you, Hugh? You like some spider smashing?”

“Eh,” he said with a shrug, the memory of spider wrangling coming to mind when Lokir got cornered back in the Helgen tunnels. That felt like eons ago, now. “I'm more into skeletons myself.”

“Seriously, you prefer dusty old bone walkers over silly spiders?” Inigo said incredulously.

“Hell yeah! Watching the dumb little goofballs rattle to the ground and waddle around is hilarious!” Hugh said. “Plus they don't have any muscle tissue, so most of the time getting hit by one is like getting tickled.”

“Not the arcane ones, anyway,” Bastet added. “Oh Oshana, pleasant memories of Aylied skeletons resurfacing yet?”

“Don't remind me,” she grumbled. “One impossibly strong bonebag is bad enough, but one that can conjure more? Ugh.”

“Hey, we're all skeletons, here,” Jo joked, “We just have runny guts and sweaty skin wrapped around them.”

“Speak for yourself, smoothskin,” Bastet shot back.

“Fine, dandruff fur,” Hugh cut in.

Jasi, who hadn't been paying attention to the discussion, heard that, glanced up, then rubbed her hair and examined her hand.

“They were joking, you twit,” Oshana snickered, earning a seething look from Jasi. She couldn't come up with a response, though, so went back to drinking.

They all finished lunch then decided to head for the market square. It was a bustling maze of stalls, tents, carriages and street performers. Being so close to the borders of both Cyrodiil and Morrowind, there was a plenty of diverse traders to choose from, particularly Imperial, Khajiit and Dunmer products along with the native Nord traders. There was a bit of everything from all corners of Tamriel. Whiterun may be the trade hub of Skyrim, but Riften was a close second what with being built around waterways that flowed to many lands beyond the southern and eastern mountains. Oshana had taken Johanna and Inigo with her to purchase some better armor for the three of them. Jasi wandered off on her own to look for books and other mage items, leaving Bastet, Hugh and Maxim to wander the rows of callers and consumers.

“Maxim, do you plan on getting anything that blends in?” Bastet asked him.

“What do you mean? This blends in perfectly,” he said back, adjusting the jacket over his body.

“Hey, I'm the comedian, here,” Hugh interjected.

“True, we don't need two fools,” Bastet agreed. As they ambled through the market one Khajiit woman passed them buy, dressed as a merchant and seeming not to notice them, but Bastet eyed her warily, her ears sinking cautiously.

“You think that's her?” Hugh asked quietly when the other woman passed by.

“Maybe,” Bastet said. “Likely, actually. I've seen her pass us around from multiple angles, and she hasn't once stopped at any of the Khajiit caravans here.”

“I too have noticed her,” Maxim said. “Could be she is on break and just browsing.”

“I thought of that,” Bastet agreed. “Still, keep an eye on her.”

“I think I may browse on my own,” Maxim said. “After all, she could have found a few interesting things to follow up on.”

“We need eggs and milk,” Hugh said with a farewell wave.

“Sorry, lactose intolerant.” Then he was off, disappearing into the crowd despite his not-so-inconspicuous attire.

“Welp, I could use some more cigarettes, actually, I'm almost out of my Camels,” Hugh spoke up.

“I can smell a tobacco shop over there,” Bastet said, pointing through a few rows of stalls. “Little tricky to tell since it's next to a fish monger.”

“Oh good, I like the taste of old harbor wood when I take a drag.”

They made their way through the walkways 'til they came to their destination. The tobacco shop was actually its own building, seated next to the Black-Briar Meadery (its front window even sported a few of the neighboring company's mead variations, claiming they went well with certain types of cigar and pipe tobacco).

“Honestly I could use some myself,” Bastet said as they approached the shop's door, “Yours sparked up my old cravings.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that,” Hugh apologized as they stepped through the door into the warm, humid and sweet smelling air of the smoke store.

“What's there to be sorry about?” she asked.

“Well, cigarettes where I'm from are... designed to be more, uh, let's say: potent.”

“And that has an underlying meaning...?”

“Yeah, when I say 'potent' I mean cripplingly addictive, even to people who don't have genetic dispositions to addiction.”

“That's... horrible...” Bastet said, trying to come up with a more diplomatic word, but none came at the thoughts Hugh's words inspired.

“Yeah, again, sorry. But in my defense that night we were both pretty fucked up and I feel saying no would've been, like, super rude.”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” Bastet sighed as she approached a glass case and looked at the contents “It would've been rude, yes,” she added, looking over her shoulder at him with a smirk.

“Well, I'd be happy to buy you some more lung cancer in reparation,” Hugh shot back as he stood beside her, picking up a large ornate pipe to inspect it. The mouth piece was a smooth black while the stack was pearly-white with fine carvings of a dragon and a Nord hero on either side.

“Good day, lady and gent,” a new voice said. They looked up to see the shopkeeper emerge from a backroom behind the counter, shaven headed with some lingering dark hair in the follicles, but with a fully grown and groomed mustache. The man glanced behind himself then plucked a lavender-colored bottle from a cabinet and brought it to them.

“Might I suggest a Senchal moonsugar wine to go with the Raven Rock ash-weed. It's surprisingly good how well the two go with each other.”

“Hmm...” Bastet said thoughtfully as she took the bottle from the shopkeep. “Sounds interesting.”

The shopkeep opened his mouth to speak again, but then he saw something on the back of the bottle Bastet held. Hugh noticed the look of alarm that he barely kept hidden.

“Actually, ma'am I'll need to take that particular bottle back, get you a better one,” he said, Bastet glancing back at him with raised brows.

“Oh, okay?” she said back, offering it to him. Before the man could take it back, Hugh plucked it from Bastet's hand.

“Ah, what's wrong with it?” he asked, looking at the spot the now frightened shopkeep had noticed. He saw a black star bad been stamped on the back label, next to the actual wine company's logo, along with two crescent moons flanking the star.

“Lookie here, some subtle signsmanship (I think that's a word)...”

“Ah, thank you, sir!” the man blustered as he lurched over the counter and grabbed the bottle back. Bastet was now leveling a seething look at the shopkeep, her tail whipping sideways.

“Really? Of all the places to keep a skooma front...” she hissed.

“Yeah, pal, you're a regular fuckin' Heisenberg,” Hugh told him.

“Um, ah, er, anything else I can interest you in?” the man sputtered as he shoved the bottle beneath the counter, slapping on a phony smile.

“No, thanks,” Bastet grunted, turning to leave.

“I mean, an actual bottle of that wine and ash-whatever sounds good, at a one-hundred percent discount,” Hugh cut in, taking Bastet by surprise (and the shopkeep, too). He blinked stupidly at Hugh, then his shoulders sagged.

“I didn't sign up for this, by the way, they're making me do it,” the man muttered.

“He's lying,” Bastet said, just as Hugh started to feel a little guilty.

“Here, free of charge, have a good day!” the man said quickly as he shoved another bottle and a weed packet into a small paper bag and tossed them at Hugh. He clumsily caught them as the keeper went around the counter and started shooing them out.

“Come back again, tell your friends and family about us!” he said loudly as she ushered the two out the door. The door slammed shut, locked, a 'closed' sign was put up and curtains were drawn. And that was that.

The two stood there for a moment, trying to process the whole exchange. After a moment, Hugh shrugged, said, “Hi, doggie!” and turned to walk off, Bastet quickly following.

“I've seen and been through a lot, but I have to say that was a new experience,” Bastet said. She then reached into the bag for the wine. “Just to make sure...” she muttered, looking it over. She uncorked the bottle and sniffed. Satisfied, she put the bottle back in the bag.

“I mean, it'll still make us high, right?” Hugh joked and she laughed.

“Maybe you, a bit, but to Khajiit that's a very mild moonsugar wine. Even the alcohol volume is pretty low compared to other wines. Obviously the bottles like that were meant to cater to those, er, less attuned to... mixed intoxicants. A common practice for Elsweyrian breweries and wineries that distribute across Tamriel without compromising the traditional recipes.

“But the nerve of using it as a skooma front... if this wasn't Riften I'd've reported him by now...” Bastet growled.

“Yeah, Riften is the Gotham City of Skyrim, and she needs her own Batman.”

Bastet looked up at Hugh with a bemused look.

“Pff, what? Like... a vampire?”

Hugh burst into laughter at that. “I... yeah, no... but... ahaha! Well, it's gonna sound goofy to someone who hasn't grown up on Earth... but we have this guy we call a 'superhero.' A bunch, actually, but this particular one is called Batman.”

“And that entails...?”

“Well, the guy—Bruce Wayne—was the son of a rich business owner, but when he was a kid his folks got killed right in front of him in a mugging. So that inspires him to grow up to be a crime-fighting caped-crusader.”

“What in Oblivion do bats have to do with being a vigilante?”

“I dunno, there's a bunch of iterations, but Bruce got traumatized by bats as a kid and uses the 'Batman' alter-ego as like a 'fuck you' to facing his fears... believe me, the Tim Burton and Christopher Nolan movies make it sound way less goofy, sort of.”

“I... guess I'll just have to take your word for it,” Bastet said with a chuckle.

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

A few more hours were spent perusing the market before the shadows grew long and the sky fell dim. The traders started to pack up for the night, a few removing their mobile shops completely to make for Windhelm by morning's light. The company all met in front of the Bee and Barb again. Jo, Inigo and Oshana all were in brand new armor. Oshana had gotten the three of them all sets of apotheus armor, dark-colored leather-clad plates that molded to the shapes of their bodies for comfort and maneuverability, plus protection from arms.

“Oh shit, here comes Team Rocket, only with two shiny Meowths,” Hugh cracked.

“'Prepare for trouble!'” Johanna said back with a grin.

“Hey, it was buy two, get one free,” Inigo told them.

“Good to know there's a Walmart in Riften.”

“Is there something wrong with him?” Inigo muttered to Oshana.

“Don't get me started,” she muttered back.

Jasi showed up next, looking a bit different. It took a moment for Hugh to realize her fur was fluffed and sweet smelling, and her hair was done in a different style. Instead of the large strands of cornrows she used to have, now her hair was tied in three braids that all had been twisted together into one. Her hair also smelled of coconut and shimmered sheen in the fading sunlight and rising torchlight.

“Wait, did you get a grooming?” Bastet asked. “Here and now of all times?”

“Lovely as the college is, I've been cooped up in one place in one ruined Nord town with my only Khajiiti company being _J'zargo_ , uggh. One of the Khajiit caravans offered a grooming and I took it. _Needed_ it. You two may like to be made of greasy knots, but I like-”

“Yes, yes,” Oshana cut in, waving her hand dismissively at Jasi, “You've made your point, your Eminence. Come on, a few more drinks before we start our little party.”

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

Maxim stuck to the shadows, slinking behind guards and citizens alike. While the others made for the canals below, he made for his position. From the nearly empty market circle to the wealthier home district where the Temple of Mara was built. He climbed over an iron fence into a back alley near the temple. He rolled his bootfalls to muffle the noise as he made his way to the bell tower. Sinking to a crouch, Maxim padded to the end of the alley. It opened to the cemetery behind the temple and he scanned the area, looking out for priests or mourners. It was quiet tonight but for the chirping of crickets and buzzing of torchbugs. The coast was clear. He looked to the bell tower, standing adjacent to the temple, a small wooden door blocking his entry to the maintenance ladder. He picked the lock (which proved easy with the use of a modern lock picking device), granting him access. Stepping in and quietly closing the door behind him, he began climbing the ladder. He reached the top of the tower, no place to sit properly, but all he needed to do was maneuver around the bell and sit on his knees on the bannister of the tower's top. He pulled the Vintorez from his back to lean across his belly, but first he scanned below with his binoculars. He made note of patrolling guards... and yes, the Khajiit from the market earlier that seemed to be tailing he, Bastet and Hugh. Now she was wandering close to the flight of steps the others had taken to the canals. He could see Hugh, Jo and Inigo below, just barely in the darkness. He kept a close eye on the agent above. She seemed to be listening as she stood directly above the others.

Maxim put away his binoculars for his rifle, peering through the scope to watch the Thalmor agent. He puckered his lips and whistled, imitating a bird. Now they knew.

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

The three of them heard Maxim's whistle, but kept on with their conversation like normal. Now they were left to wonder how close the agent was to them.

“...That's when I threw Mr. Dragonfly off the bridge!”

“Did those psychos go after him?” Johanna asked, captivated by the smart blue cat's undoubtedly true story.

“Hehe, they sure did!” Inigo said back. “It was quite the mess.”

“Obviously Mr. D lived for you to tell the tale,” Jo said, glancing down at the jar on Inigo's hip. Mr. D did a somersault in response.

“He was not thrilled about landing in a frozen river, jar or no, but he's glad those fiends are no longer around.”

The three of them quieted down when footsteps climbed down a nearby flight of steps. It was the Thalmor agent, to their surprise. She strode up to them, wearing a mean gaze as she looked between them.

“What are you supposed to be, toll guards for the Ratway?” she demanded, flexing her right hand to reveal her claws.

“Good guess. Twenty septims, cough 'em up,” Hugh ordered.

“No respect for a Guild member, hmph,” she lied. At this Hugh clasped his hands together.

“Oooh, we've got a special snowflake!”

The agent sneered and grabbed him by the throat. Inigo drew his sword partway while Jo raised a staff. She was only trying to be intimidating, though.

“Just wait until Mercer hears about this... it'll be even worse for you since you're obviously not with the Guild,” she hissed. She let go, but not without leaving a small nick on his throat with a claw. “You honestly expect me to believe two Imperial milk-drinkers and a blue freak to be keeping tabs on the Ratway, out in the open at that?”

“Hey, lay off Inigo, he can't help that his mother was a bag of cotton candy,” Hugh shot back. Inigo threw an annoyed look at him while Jo snorted.

“Leave while you can, fools don't last long in this city,” the agent said. With that she pushed by them and entered the Ratway.

“Really? Cotton candy?” Inigo said to Hugh dryly.

“I know, not my best material, but I'm not good at improv,” Hugh said back as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

“What is that?” Inigo asked curiously.

“Little communication device, gonna warn the ladies about their visitor,” Hugh told him as he dialed in Jo's cell number.

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

Jasi glanced down at her hip when a small satchel strapped to it vibrated. She reached in and pulled out Johanna's phone, answering like Jo showed her. She put the device to her ear.

“Yes?” she asked.

“That one Khajiit agent just came in, watch your six,” Hugh's voice told her.

“Yes, will do. Keep an eye out for more, we've just reached the Ragged Flagon, it shouldn't be long now.”

“Got it.”

Jasi hung up and told her sisters what Hugh said.

“You don't think that fool would actually try something? On the three of us?” Bastet said.

“She's a Khajiit Thalmor agent, no doubt more more of a zealot than even the Altmer themselves. Brainwashed puppet,” Oshana sneered as they walked around the cistern to the bar area. The gang of cuthroats and thieves eyed them suspiciously. Bastet noted one of the peddlers from the market among them, the one with his Falmer blood 'elixir.' He actually stood and approached them, putting on a smarmy grin.

“Good evening, ladies,” he said. “The dark one of you can stay, she seems like an actual footpad. I'm afraid our little family has no need for tin cans and giant spellslingers, no offense. Different strokes for different folks, as they say.”

“We're not here for recruitment,” Oshana growled at him, “We're looking for a man named Esbern.”

“That old paranoid?” the red-haired man questioned. “He's deeper in the warrens, down that hall, last door straight. Beyond that door I couldn't tell you, I don't oft take a stroll in the local mental asylum. You'd think Sheogorath himself goes on holiday down there.”

“Well, you were helpful at least, so thank you,” Oshana said, nearly sneering. The man either ignored or didn't care about Oshana's sass.

He returned a smile and tipped an imaginary hat. The sisters followed his directions, stepping through the door to find deeper sewers somehow even danker than the ones before. It was quiet, but for the occasional muttering of mad men and women, unseen in the dark corners. It seemed to get darker as they went on, their eyes adjusting as they climbed further down the damp and slick steps, winding through halls and doorways. They came upon one man who was just sane enough to point them in the right direction, and before they knew it they found themselves at the threshold of a heavy door, locked tight with bolts and bars, and even a mage's seal that prevented any lockpicking, physical or magical.

Bastet raised her fist and let the steel gauntlet rap noisily against the heavy wood. After a moment an eye-level slot opened, revealing the nearly crazed eyes of an old man.

“Go away!” he shouted, half angry, half frightened.

Bastet decided to cut to the chase. “'Where were you on the thirtieth of Frostfall?'” she recited. The old man's eyes widened for a moment, then relaxed. Probably more relaxed than they had been in a long time.

“So... Delphine's alive I'm glad to hear it. Er, one moment while I undo all these,” he said, slamming the slot shut. The three waited while he fiddled with the locks on his side, mumbling and cursing all the way. A short pause, then he pulled the door open.

“Come on, come in!” he said, ushering them into his room. “You weren't followed, were you?”

“We were, actually, so we should get a move on,” Oshana told him. He gave her a stunned and nasty look.

“How foolish are you, girl? _Who_ did you lead here? Besides the Thalmor.”

“As far as we know, one undercover agent, a Khajiit woman masquerading as a merchant. She won't be much of a threat,” Oshana said back.

“Maybe, but you should have lost her or gotten rid of her before you came here,” Esbern told her. “Why is Delphine seeking me out after all this time? And at the height of the Thalmor's power?”

“We need your help retrieving an Elder Scroll,” Bastet told him.

“An Elder Scroll? What on Nirn do you need one for?” Esbern asked.

“To defeat Alduin,” Bastet went on. Again he was stunned.

“What do you know of the World-Eater, girl?”

“I am the Dragonborn, Esbern. It's why we need the Scroll, and why we need your help finding it.”

He stared at for a few moment, mouth agape. “You are... Dragonborn? If this is true... there is hope after all.”

“It's true, alright,” Oshana spoke up. “I saw her run a blade through a dragon's heart and devour the very burning flesh from its bones. It even tried to set fire to her, but somehow she survived the flames.”

“Ye Gods...” Esbern sighed in astonishment. “Then there's no time to waste. I just need to grab some things, important tomes, mind you. So keep an eye out for this agent,” he muttered as he began bustling around the room. Oshana did that while Jasi and Bastet stayed behind.

“Oh, and while I'm doing this,” Esbern said to the other two, “would you mind dousing the furniture with the extra lamp oil? I want this room burnt to a crisp by the time we leave the Ratway, good riddance.” The two glanced at each other, shrugged, then did as he asked.

Outside the door Oshana could hear Esbern rummaging and her sisters tossing the oil all over the room. Her cat's eyes were focused on the shadows, her nostrils trying to catch a whiff of the agent, though it was difficult smell anything beyond sewage, mold, and rancid water.

Suddenly a huff sounded from below, along with the rustling of a sleeve, and a dagger's blade twirling through the air. Oshana jerked her head sideway's just in time as the steel knife whistled by her head. She hissed and drew back as the Thalmor agent vaulted onto the ledge from below, another dagger in hand.

“Now you will pay for interfering with the Thalmor's plans!” the other Khajiit hissed.

“You were a fool to come alone,” Oshana retorted. To her right Jasi and Bastet emerged from the room, sword and spell in hand.

“My life for the Dominion!” the zealot bellowed and lunged at Oshana. Before Oshana could react a bolt of lightning cracked the side of the agent's torso, the sound deafening against the walls. The agent flew over the landing, hit the ground and skidded across the damp stones. Her body tumbled down the steps to the floor below. The three of them stood at the top, looking down her her. Her eyes were wide and empty, a blackened crater smoldering on her abdomen. The flesh around her rib cage had been vaporized, revealing the blackened bone.

“There  _ have  _ to be more... just not in the city, they would never get by a bunch of paranoid Stormcloak guards,” Bastet said.

Jasi said, “I agree. We shouldn't slow down when we get outside the city, try to cover our tracks if we can.”

Behind them flames puffed to life, prompting them to turn. Esbern now stepped from his old 'home' as it blazed, a rucksack over his shoulder holding his valuables.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said. “We've no time to lose!”

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

Hugh, Inigo and Jo turned around when the door to the Ratway opened. Jasi ducked through first, followed by her sisters and finally the old Blade.

“Ah, you've quite the party,” Esbern noted upon seeing the other three. “Not exactly inconspicuous, but strength in numbers I suppose.”

“Are you gonna criticize the resistance or join the resistance?” Hugh asked jokingly.

“And these two young ones are clearly greenhorns,” Esbern added in response, glancing between Hugh and Johanna.

“Yeah, but they can be useful, like babysitting a door. Still needed a supervisor for them though,” Oshana said, casting a smirk at Inigo.

“They weren't any trouble, in fact I was about to tuck them in for the night after some warm milk,” Inigo said back slyly.

“Yeah? Well I swirled your toothbrush in the toilet while you weren't looking,” Johanna shot back.

“I have feeling that's something you've actually done,” Hugh said. Johanna blushing was enough of an answer. “Oh there's a special place in hell for people who do that epic ghetto prank gone wrong gone sexual-”

“Can we move along and save the 'witty banter' for later?” Jasi snapped.

“Yes, let's,” Esbern urged. They all climbed the wooden steps to the marketplace, devoid of life save for a few guards, and some street cats chasing rats. They followed the market paths to the city streets and eventually to the main gate where Maxim was already waiting.

“You're going to have to explain a lot to me, between the blue Khajiit, those two children and... whoever this is supposed to be,” Esbern said bemusedly. He looked to Maxim again. “Is that your idea of camouflage?”

“Works in the snow,” the Russian replied with a shrug.

They stepped through the gates and retrieved their horses from the stables. Jasi conjured the faux senche-raht and shared the mount with Esbern. Soon they were off at a run, leaving the suspicious eyes of the Riften guard to stare at their receding backs. They wound down the road, and when they finally passed Riften's northern watchtower and were out of sight, they went off the road to elude any possible pursuers. Of course, the Thalmor wouldn't let them go that easily...

Other horses whinnied in the dark birch forest, and soon the black and gold flowing uniforms of Justiciars appeared around them, accompanied by the golden shimmer of soldiers in their elven armor.

“Split up!” Bastet barked, and they did so. Oshana and Inigo accompanied Bastet; while Jasi, Hugh, and Johanna teamed up. Meanwhile Maxim jumped off his horse, rolling to cushion the landing, then disappeared in the under brush, taking some of their pursuers off guard as they pulled their steeds to a hasty halt.

A majority of the Thalmor party ended up following Jasi's group, since Esbern was riding with her. Jasi had wards raised on either side of her with both hands as the majority of the Justiciar spells were flung at her. Esbern threw some spells back since she had no way to retaliate, but they were few and ineffective against the ten agents that pursued them. Hugh thought this was a pretty good time to use his rifle. He reached for a deerskin casing strapped to Jerma's left front and pulled the Whitetail out.

“Jo, come with me and keep me covered!” Hugh yelled, banking to the right. She followed him, as did four other agents. Jasi saw this out of the corner of her eye and had to trust them. She just hoped Hugh would work fast with that weapon of his.

Hugh was a good two yards from Jasi and Esbern now. She and he found themselves halting before a cliff face, forced to face their pursuers. It was alarming to them, but good for Hugh. He could shoot the elves easier now. Hugh stopped Jerma and hopped off, sinking to a knee as he peered through the rifle's scope. Johanna was proving herself now as she kept the four other agents at bay with two chain-lightning staves.

Hugh leveled his scope with one Justiciar and took the shoot. His head jerked and body fell limp as the bullet tore through his skull, shocking his partner. Hugh didn't hesitate to bring him down next. This gave the opportunity for Esbern and Jasi to jump off the senche-raht and fight back, the conjured Khajiit familiar having its own chance to pounce on an agent and maul him to death.

Hugh heard a yelp from Johanna. He whirled around to see she had been blasted by a whirlwind of frozen air, knocked on her backside. The Justiciar that had cast the spell stood before her, spell in one hand and a daedric blade in the other. Johanna's apotheus armor had taken the brunt of the spell, but was frozen solid, leaving her helpless. Hugh snarled and swung the rifle for the Justiciar, but as if he had as sixth sense the Altmer's gaze snapped to Hugh, a vicious and crazed smirk with malevolent golden eyes.

Before Hugh could squeeze off a round the Almter's spell hand snapped up, already charged with an unfamiliar looking light green orb. It burst from his palm and hurtled to Hugh. He gasped when it struck him in the chest, but seemed to phase right into his body. A disturbing energy coursed through every cell of his body, from his hair to his toes and everywhere in between. With a low laugh the Almter suddenly swept away into the dark trees, disappearing into shadow.

Shaking his head, Hugh looked to Jasi and Esbern. They had managed to dispatch the last of the agents and now looked to Hugh and Johanna. Hugh scanned their surroundings. While he had been aiming Jo had managed to bring down all but that one agent with the staves. He felt a bit of pride upon seeing this, but she was in a bit of a pickle now. He got to his feet, still feeling that odd sensation in seemingly every molecule of his being, but he strode to Johanna as she shivered in place, her teeth chattering.

“Holy shit, Hugh!” she breathed, her voice quaking as she began to struggle against the icy armor. “What would've happened if I hadn't been wearing this armor? I'm so lucky that spell didn't hit my _face!_ ”

“Oh it wouldn't have been so bad,” Hugh said as he looked her up and down. “You'd just have to put one foot in front of the other!” he said in a sing-song voice.

“...what?”

“You haven't seen...? Mm, never mind.”

He looked over his shoulder as Jasi finally arrived, a spell in her hand.

“Nice work, you two,” she said to them. “You're lucky indeed, Johanna.” Jasi cast a light fire spell. A thin veil of flames danced around Jo's armor, thawing it out in a manner of moments. Hugh helped Jo to her feet.

“Hugh, what did that guy hit you with? Are you okay?” she asked now, looking him over in turn.

“I didn't see, what's wrong?” Jasi asked him

“I don't know...” Hugh said, starting to grow confused as well as worried. “It was, um, some sort of green orb. Went into me, though. Gave me a weird feeling in... everything. I'm not sure how to describe it...”

“That doesn't sound good,” Jasi said, studying him with a troubled gaze. “In fact, that sounds like a curse.”

“You can't be serious...”

“I am, and it is,” she said soberly. “I can't tell what sort of affect it has on you without a diagnostic spell. And even then, if it's a good one it'll be able to deter any attempts I make to interfere.”

A scream sounded off in the distance, followed by the whip's crack of one of Maxim's suppressed pistol shots. Then...

“ _ **YOL!**_ ”

Suddenly the night erupted in flame, an fireball explosion engulfing a tree, followed by shrieks of agony.

“By Kyne, the _Thu'um!_ ” Esbern exclaimed, eyes wide and full of reverence.

“Worry about me later, we should check on them and get out of here,” Hugh said. Jasi nodded in agreement. They retrieved their mounts and made for the direction of the burning tree. When they arrived they saw Bastet, Oshana and (a stunned) Inigo standing before the blaze. Two Thalmor bodies sizzled in a pile of slag that used to be their moonstone armor.

“Anyone hurt?” Jasi asked the three.

“Not us...” Oshana murmured, still watching the bodies. Bastet surprisingly looked guilty and perturbed as she too stared at the ruin before her.

“Was that all of them?” the voice of Maxim spoke up behind them. He emerged from the darkness, the Makarov held upward in his shooting hand.

“No, actually, that rube that cursed me fucked off,” Hugh said. Bastet looked sharply at him.

“Cursed? Cursed how?” she asked.

“I don't know.”

“We'll worry about that once we flee,” Oshana spoke up, tearing her sight from the bodies. Before anything else was said a whistle filled the air. Then a small elven blade streaked through the flames and went home in Oshana shoulder. She bellowed a curse in Khajiiti as she stumbled back, bring her hand to clutch the wound.

Bastet snarled viciously, eyes alight with rage as her pupils dilated to black circles ringed with blue.

“To me, dragoncat!” the surviving Justiciar taunted, his silhouette barely visible in the dark wood, even with the flame-light dancing against the trees and brush. Bastet charged after him, sword at her side, ignoring the protests of the others.

The Justiciar moved unnaturally, almost as if he was a shadow himself, weaving around the birches and over stones.

“ _ **WULD!**_ ” Bastet roared, shooting forward like a gale, leaving branches and leaves to snap and billow in her wake. She ignored the receding calls of the others as she pursued the cretin that dared harm her family. Whenever his shaded figure began to sink to deeply in the veil of shadows she bellowed her Words of Power. Soon they were upon the black stone helm of an ancient Nord tomb. The agent took full form again and sprinted through the gate and into the bowels of the crypt. Bastet's steel boots angrily clanged against the elder stones, echoing off the cold walls of the death halls. Down flights of stairs, past coffins and the mummified remains of long dead Nords, Bastet followed him until he at last stopped in a wide open room. It was alight with the eternally smoldering coals of enchanted torch bowls. Ceramic lanterns hung and glowed softly from the ceiling, gently swaying in the wind they had kicked up. Dust that had been thickening for eons trickled off of them like sand, hazing the room as the two warriors stared each other down.

“You're going to end up like your underlings, knife-ears,” Bastet growled, clutching her steel blade tightly. The agent reached over his back and revealed his daedric blade. “Ah, I see. A prize beyond merely rendering you to ash.”

“That sounds boring,” he said back slyly with a slimy grin. “Let us duel fairly... in fact...” He tossed his sword aside and traded it for an old Nord blade that laid atop a coffin. “Say what you will about the snow-apes, but their ancient steel is still quite formidable. I'm afraid I would break that toy in your hand with my true blade.”

“Fine, I'll bite,” Bastet said back, “I'll pretend this isn't part of some scheme.” She bent her knees and locked both hands around the handle of her sword, raising it in front of herself. “You'll be dead before you spring it.”

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

Oshana growled in agony when Inigo ripped the blade from her shoulder. Jasi didn't hesitate to assault the wound with healing magic. She sighed in relief as the pain disappeared and her flesh and bone mended whole, leaving only the blood to clean off her armor.

“Is someone going to go after her already?” Oshana demanded, returning to her old irate self.

“I will go,” Maxim volunteered. Just as he began to head for the direction she disappeared in Hugh shouted suddenly. Everyone looked to him he stared wide-eyed at his leg, bringing a hand down to try and clutch it through his greaves.

“What's wrong?” Jo asked.

“I don't know, I ju- AGH!” he cried, bring his hand to clutch his upper right arm.

“The fuck, Hugh!” Jo exclaimed, her eyes wide with fright, but not nearly as panicked as Hugh's.

“It feels like someone's cutting me!” he gasped. Suddenly a bright red gash split open over his left eye. He screamed again, falling to his knees. Jasi rushed to his side.

“Hugh, try to hold still!” Jasi said as she began to undo his cuirass.

“The curse!” Esbern declared. Jasi paused and her eyes widened in realization.

“Bastet!”

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

It was at this point Bastet realized this Thalmor degenerate wasn't just a zealot, he was an utter lunatic. He cackled wildly as he clutched the cut over his eye.

“That ought to leave a scar. The ladies will love it!” he said with a snicker, twirling the ancient Nord blade around casually.

Bastet ignored his insanity and plunged into the duel again. He twisted around her, leveling the sword with her face. She managed to duck, the sword whistling over her head. She jabbed him in the abdomen with her steel-clad elbow, making him huff and backroll away. Bastet lunged after him. Pomel first, she bashed him in the shoulder, eliciting a grunt of pain (that still somehow sounded amused). But from his free hand a blast of kinetic energy threw Bastet back. She stumbled and nearly tripped over her own feet, but sank into a roll to alleviate the momentum. Back on her feet she raised her sword into a guarded position again.

“Looks like you broke a rule,” Bastet said, allowing herself a smirk. “ **_FUS ROH!_ ** ” Maybe not at full strength, but the Thu'um was enough to send him tumbling across the floor, losing grip of the sword as he slammed into a stone table. It rattled and caused some embalming tools to fall and clatter around him. He was curled slightly in a fetal position, but his shoulders hitched with that laughter. Now it was beginning to disturb Bastet. He was mocking her, but it felt like he... knew something she didn't.

“Ah!  _ Curses! _ ” he exclaimed, sprawling on his back as he breathed heavy, the blood from the cuts she gave him soaked all over his robes and smeared on the floor. He looked to Bastet and laughed at the dumb look on her face.

“Aha!” he shouted. “Now she understands!”

_ Hugh... _

Without warning he twisted onto his feet, one arm stretched rigid to his right, glowing somewhat. The daedric sword lifted off the ground and made its way to his outstretched hand, the sinister red light of the mystical weapon throbbing for blood. Her blood.

“Dare you, dragoncat?” he taunted, slowly rising to his feet. Her mind raced, clouded by panic and the thought that this whole time...

Bastet gasped when the agent dashed across the room with startling speed. It was her turn to get cut as the daedric steel roughly but effectively pierced her steel plates, cutting through the flesh of her left arm. She kicked him in the leg out of instinct, repelling the Almter away as she backstepped. She felt the blood trickle and soak into her fur, the wound stinging yet throbbing with a sinister chill from the devilish ebony.

“You know you may have to kill me,” he said smugly. What terrified Bastet the most was that it sounded like he  _ wanted _ that to happen. “And if you don't... well, the others outside just might, despite what would happen to that poor boy.”

Despair struck her heart. She did her best to control her hands from quivering as she thought furiously of a way to incapacitate the Altmer.

He gave a small gasp suddenly, an idea sparking in his mind.

“You know what?” said he. He then threw the sword at her feet. She glanced down at it dumbly, then back at him. He raised his arms. “I surrender!” He brought his arms back down the pat against his hips with finality. He meant it, too. She could tell.

“Why?” she asked cautiously.

“Simple. To watch the lot of you try to figure out a way to get your dear friend out of this conundrum. That half-rate furlicker that probably considers herself a mage will do everything in her power to unweave the curse, but I'm afraid it's quite permanent. It's not something I know offhand, but of an old and very powerful scroll created centuries ago by a renowned mage of our people. He made plenty of copies, though, and the most... loyal of Justiciars go through with using them... oft to their desired effect.”

“Fine,” Bastet growled, bending over to pick up the daedric blade. “I can't wait until Jasi wipes that greasy smug smirk off your pretty golden face.”

“Oh ho, that beast you call 'Jasi' is welcome to try.”

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

Maxim slowed down before the Nordic ruins, breathing heavily from the run, but he had no time to lose. He pushed on through the exhaustion, climbing a set of steps to enter the tomb. He stopped short when the agent stood in the doorway. Maxim instinctively drew his weapon, but then he saw Bastet behind him.

“Wait!” she called.

“Don't worry, I know,” he said back, holstering the gun again.

“How is the boy?” the agent asked mockingly.

“He probably wants to punch you despite the curse,” Maxim said back.

“Hmph, typical human. Pride over self-preservation.”

“Oh, says the Thalmor that put a mirror curse on a random person just to amuse himself,” Bastet shot back, giving him a push forward.

“Ah. A fine point.”

It wasn't long before they found themselves with the rest of the company again. Jasi sat beside Hugh as she finished tending to his wounds.

“Oh, are we choosing not to use magic to heal ourselves?” the agent teased, smiling down at Hugh wryly.

“Actually I was thinking I rub in some salt,” Hugh said back, a bandage wrapped around his head to cover the cut over his eye. Bastet was glad she hadn't actually struck the eye itself, but the pit of guilt sank in his belly as she took Hugh in. Despite his cool demeanor, he was pale and shivering slightly with cold sweat, dark circles under his eyes. He had some bruising on his abdomen, presumably from when Bastet had sent the agent tumbling into the table.

“Practical, aren't we? Not the least bit driven by emotion,” the agent lectured, taking a seat on a log as he looked between the others. Morose for Hugh's situation, but brimming with molten hate for the Justiciar. It took every ounce of their willpower not to kill him right there.

“Christ, what is with me getting hurt anyway?” Hugh grunted. “First that draugr in Bleak Falls Barrow. Yeah, that was my fault, sure. But then that gay spider in uh... whatever the name of that gay Dwemer city was. Now this gay shitbag.” He gestured at the agent.

“Probably well it was me who cast the spell. Your friends will grant me a quick death to spare you anymore suffering.”

“That's not happening you pretentious bigot,” Inigo said icily.

Bastet sat beside Jasi and Hugh.

“Did you find anything out?” she asked lowly.

Jasi faced her with a grave expression.

“The curse is permanent. I don't think even the Arch-Mage himself could undo this,” Jasi told her.

“Shit...” Hugh whispered. “Now, don't argue with me, but-”

“ _ No. _ I  _ will _ argue with you,” Bastet interjected. “You're not dying, nor are you being left with him.”

“So we're just gonna drag him around Skyrim?” said Hugh “You know, Bastet, I honestly made my peace with the prospect that I'll never get home, and I'm glad I did. Other wise I wouldn't be taking this that well.”

Bastet opened her mouth to retort, but the look on Hugh's face was enough to convince her that... he was right. She bowed her head and sat down with her arms folded in her lap.

“Aww, don't be so sad,” the agent piped up. “Me and Hugh here will keep each other company while you're on your way.” Bastet clenched her firsts, wanting desperately to beat his head to a pulp with here gauntlets. Hugh's own fists were clenched, too, itching for the same thing. They'd have to take turns, under normal circumstances.

Esbern cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Now, this fine gentleman may  _ say _ the curse is permanent, but he is the caster, after all. He has the power to dispel it. The question is how to... persuade him.”

“You're not suggesting...” Oshana said with a mixture of horror and disgust.

“At this point, I'm all game,” Hugh stated, following the hint. “Look at it this way: I'll either get toughened up, or I'll get PTSD. Both are better than dying, by varying degrees. So it's a win-win.”

“I'm afraid not,” chuckled the agent. “Do you really expect  _ me _ to be broken by torture? Especially out here where you don't even have the most vicious of instruments?” He threw his head back and gave a venomous laugh. “Besides, torture is useless as a means of information gathering. We only say that to justify sadism.”

“He's got a point actually,” Hugh said with a sigh. “That's why most civilized countries in my world criminalized it.”

Inigo raised an eyebrow at this.

“Your world?” he inquired.

“Oh we'll get to that,” Hugh said back with a chuckle. “You're sort of a mini e-celebrity in certain circles.”

“You know if my wounds get infected, so will his,” the agent spoke again. “No matter how well you treat them.”

Jasi growled and raised a hand glowing with healing magic.

“Thankfully the curse reflects anything on you back to him, so I can just heal you,” Jasi said as she began soothing the wounds on Hugh. He looked to the agent and saw his facial cut begin to mend itself, looking a bit eerie without the glow of restoration magic, to be honest.

“That's interesting...” Hugh murmured as he mulled this fact over. “So like... let's say I was born with six fingers on one hand. If I were to cut my sixth finger, would it affect him?”

“No. I know we say it is a 'mirror' curse, as in if you're cut on your left hand, he'll be cut on the right. But it's more like you're both copies of each other. It adjusts itself based on heights and widths to a degree, so even though he's far taller than you, a cut on his forehead will still appear on yours. But if you had any... displaced or extra body parts, harm on them wouldn't be inflicted on him in return.”

“Jasi, quickly, paralyze him,” Hugh said. Jasi didn't hesitate, as she had started to follow what Hugh was implying. She twisted around and cast the spell at the agent. A green glow enveloped the Altmer, freezing him in place. Since it was more like a shield as opposed to a spell that bound his body from the inside, Hugh wasn't affected.

“What's going on?” Esbern asked.

Hugh laughed smugly, slapping his knee. “So,” he began, rubbing his hands together. “Anyone here every heard of dextrocardia?” Heads were shaken, except for Maxim, who began to grin.

“I have, but go on,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.

“Well, I have isolated dextrocardia. It means that I was born with my heart pointing to the right of my chest, not my left. It's a very rare condition, and it has its symptoms... thankfully in my case they're not so bad. I get sick a bit more often, but all in all I'm mostly normal. In fact, my condition saved my life once.

“Bastet, you remember the story about my car accident, yeah?” he asked her.

“I do,” she said with a nod, leaning forward intently. The idea was coming.

“Well, one of the nastier wounds was when a shard of glass got jammed into my chest. See, if I hadn't been born with dextrocardia, it would've pierced my heart and killed me... but it just managed to skim by my heart. It was still a pretty gnarly injury, but I was alive.” He tapped a shining white mark on his chest. “Right here. Looks... dagger-sized, doesn't it?” He smiled smugly at the agent and was pleased to see the look of fury on his face.

The company all looked between each other.

“Are you sure about this, Hugh?” Bastet asked, not looking thrilled. “I think you've been hurt enough today.”

“I appreciate it, but even if I  _ wasn't _ sure, it's our best bet,” he told her. “So who wants to face-stabe me?”

“I'll volunteer,” Maxim spoke up, drawing a k-bar from a sheath in his left breast. He glanced back at the agent, pleased to see the wide-eyed look on his face. He took a knee before Hugh and carefully put the tip of the knife on the boy's scar. “Stay absolutely still and hold your breath. We don't want to accidentally puncture a lung,” Maxim said softly as he held his soldier's grip steady. Bastet slid behind Hugh and braced his shoulders.

“Okay...” he said, then slowly emptied his lungs. He looked Maxim in the eye and nodded. And he sent the blade home.

Hugh tried to cry out through a mouth he kept shut tight, spit flying from between his lips to hang off his lower lip. He didn't know how, but he managed to stay stock still as the cold blade lanced through his chest, pain screaming from the wound. Across from he, Maxim and Bastet, blood spurted from the Thalmor's chest. A lot. More than Hugh's. It had worked.

Maxim quickly slid the blade from the wound, and Hugh's rigid body slumped forward as if he had just been disconnected from an electrical current. Jasi caught him and billowed a healing spell into his chest.

“Augh...” he slurred, Bastet keeping him steady.

“Yes! We did it!” she told him, and he chuckled weakly.

“It's me... Gabe Newell...” he uttered. “And my favorite class is the Spy.”

“Is he delirious or just doing one of his stupid references?” Oshana said, looking less than impressed in spite of the scene before her.

“Yes...” he said back. “Okay, I'm done taking more than one for the team. It's someone else's turn to break their leg, or get mauled by a bear.” He looked up at the agent. He was already dead, his eyes glazed over with blood oozing into his robes. Jasi flicked her free hand and the paralysis spell disappeared, allowing the body to slump off of the overturned log it sat upon unceremoniously.

“All set,” Jasi said in relief, snuffing out the magic. Bastet helped Hugh to his feet.

“Cool, thanks for scaring the fuck outta me, Hugh,” Johanna snapped.

“Well exc _ uuuse _ me, princess!” Hugh said back.

“We should leave, now,” Bastet ordered. “Make camp somewhere far away.”

An idea agreed upon. This was a site none of them every wanted to return to.

 

 

**: : : : : : :**

 

 

Even though Hugh insisted he was fine, Bastet made him sit aside while everyone else set up camp. Until he got sick of that and helped Johanna with their tent, despite Bastet's protest.

“Gawd, _ Mom _ , I'm fine! You're ruining my life!” Hugh cracked, making her sisters snicker and Bastet presumably flush beneath her fur. Tents were erected, Esbern lit them a fire, and some cured slices of venison were soon roasting on a spit over the flames, along with some potatoes. The company sat around the warm, inviting blaze, opting for healthy doses of wine and mead. Hugh and Bastet rolled up the tobacco from Riften and took much needed drags.

“So, Hugh, you think this is an occasion for that moonsugar wine?” she asked him.

“What now?” Jasi asked. “Oh, yes, of course. Even if it's watered-down for bare-skins.”

“If it gets me high I'm all for it,” Hugh agreed.

“Oh, it shouldn't be so bad, even for you,” Bastet told him as she reached into a knapsack for the bottle. Hugh, Oshana and Jasi offered their tin cups to Bastet for a fill. Once Bastet poured hers and put down the bottle, she raised her cup with the others.

“Good thinking, Hugh,” she commended.

“Yes, finally a truly good idea,” Oshana seconded. “Inigo, sure you don't want a bit?”

“Ehh, probably best I don't,” he said back, waving his hand. “Not to be insulting, but moonsugar is still a little too close to home from my skooma experiences.”

“Oh no, I understand,” Oshana said. She looked back to the others. “Let's raise this one for the brave man who sacrificed himself for the Dominion,” she said sarcastically.

“Sucks for him not having a potentially crippling heart condition,” Hugh added, getting a laugh from the sisters. They clinked and drank deeply. The wine was dry and fruity... but quite sweet. Like, really sweet, actually.

“Oh wow...” Bastet exclaimed. The Khajiit looked at Hugh.

“Damn that was sweet,” he commented, wiping his mouth. Then it dawned on him. “Oh no, that was  _ really _ sweet.”

The ladies looked between each other, uneasy smiles rising on their lips. Hugh looked to the fire. It burned more orange than it seemed to before. An irrational joy began to rise in his heart. His nerves felt everything around him. The touch of his clothes on skin, the warm ashes radiating from the fire, the slight breeze in his hair.

“Well... Hugh...” Bastet said with a light laugh as she gently took the half-empty cup from his hand. “Prepare for an...  _ interesting _ night.”

“Could you take your foot off the gas?”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind. It's a stick shift.”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Johanna asked.

“I'm kidding,” Hugh snickered. “Honestly this is no worse than acid. Too bad we're not at a Soundgarden concert.”

“Eww, you actually took that shit?” Jo sneered.

“Oh don't be so judgy, Motherfucking Jo-Jo Reference, I know sneaking a porter at back in Ivarstead was the first of your slow descent into criminal debauchery, but you don't have anyone to blame but yourself.”

“Oh you're a riot, Hugh,” Jo said with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah...” he murmured, deciding to lay back in a patch of grass and stare up at the stars. “What should I listen to?” he asked Jo. “ _ Floyd _ ?  _ Tool _ ?  _ Mastodon _ ?”

“Britney Spears.”

“ _ Tool _ it is.”

Later after Hugh passed out with his phone's earbuds still thrumming in his head, Jasi helped Jo carry Hugh into their tent for the night.

 


End file.
